


Would It Be Enough If I Could Never Give You Peace?

by HarleighJean1822



Series: Would It Be Enough... [1]
Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleighJean1822/pseuds/HarleighJean1822
Summary: After rescuing Lilith from the Demon Realm and Praxis taking a seat to chill in a corner, Randall expected life to go back to ... well, kind of normal. But a magicless Vera left a power vacuum, and when Hamish stepped up to fill it, he made himself indispensable to the Grand Magus, even now that Alyssa's given Vera her powers back. And now everything is a mess because:1. While Hamish is leading and then co-leading the Order, someone in the Knights (Randall) has to step up and take care of the werewolves in his stead.2. Hamish's rise through the ranks put a target on his back and somehow their best plan is for him and Randall to pretend to date.3. Randall is deeply, hopelessly in love with Hamish Duke, and he will do anything to keep him alive.(Title is from "Peace" by Taylor Swift.)
Relationships: Alyssa Drake/Jack Morton, Lilith Bathory/Nicole Birch, Past Hamish Duke/Vera Stone, Randall Carpio/Hamish Duke, past Randall Carpio/Gabrielle Dupres, past Randall Carpio/Lilith Bathory
Series: Would It Be Enough... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051661
Comments: 96
Kudos: 176





	1. In which there is much needed background information, pining, a chart, and some expert trolling ...

**Author's Note:**

> Guys ... this has been sitting in my docs for almost a month. It's not done, but it's done in my brain, and Taylor Swift gave me the perfect title (sorry if you hate her, but damn, those lyrics...) so I decided to just throw this out there.
> 
> I've never posted a fic before. Good vibes only please :)

Before he’d pulled on a wolf’s hide and turned into a superhero - yes, Hamish, that is _exactly_ what happened-, Randall Carpio had boundless energy manifesting in an extreme sense of restlessness. Half of his teachers swore he had ADHD and the other half insisted he was brilliant and simply wasn’t being stimulated enough. (And what teenager didn’t relish the opportunity to snipe back, “Yeah. You’ve got to stimulate me more” to their teachers?) And he _was_ smart, but more than that he was curious, and even more than that, he was just always bursting at the seams with the need to _do something_. But then he got into sports and honors classes and dating, and more recently he’d added demanding pre-med classes and werewolfing, so he was starting to settle. 

A little.

At least as long as he went for a run and a hard workout every day, and not necessarily in human form. Then he was pretty manageable.

But right now it’s raining sideways and thundering ominously. He blinks at the rapid _tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_ of rain firing at his window, followed by a deafening crack of lightning that might have taken down his favorite tree. It’s an old tree, great for climbing and diving off onto his unsuspecting fellow Knights. Except Lilith and Gabrielle because … yikes. He’d miss it if it succumbed to a fiery, lightning-induced demise. 

He sighs and refreshes the weather app on his phone again, but it insists that it will continue to rain for the next four hours. Well, 80% chance. 

Look, Randall’s no stranger to getting caught in a bit of nasty weather or taking a nice stroll through a gentle rain, but it’s raining really, really hard, and to be honest, he doesn’t feel like getting soaked or covered in mud. And he’d drive to the gym but he loaned Lilith his car to go grocery shopping … almost two hours ago, so God knows what she’s really doing. Probably something dumb and romantic for Nicole. 

It stung, at first, that it was so easy for Lilith to move on with Nicole, but he’d have to be blind not to see how happy they are together. And he really likes Nicole. There was no way they would have gotten Lilith back without her, not to mention all the times she bailed them out with the Order. So, yeah, maybe he lost the girl, but also gained a girl…? 

Two girls, including Gabrielle. The benefits portion of their friendship fizzled out pretty soon after Midnight chose her as his champion - their dynamic shifted dramatically once she became a Knight, and apparently Midnight has strong opinions about interpack “mingling” - which makes it a bit weird that she’s like his annoying sister now. But he figures she also started out that way, which makes him sounds like a total creep … geez. 

Although if he’s getting technical, it’s three girls, since Jack and Alyssa worked out their Feelings(™), and now Alyssa and Lilith are working their way back to BFF town, and Gabrielle and Lilith together are both a riot and the most terrifying thing in the universe, and Nicole just gets along with everyone because she’s too precious for this world and must be protected at all costs. Granted they all torment him relentlessly at every given opportunity, routinely cheat at beer pong, foosball, and rock wall races - because how else do they keep _winning_?!?-, and eat all of his food, but it’s nice to have them around. 

Is he in a girl gang now? Hamish would probably say yes, given the number of times he’s returned from Order Stuff(™) to find Randall on the couch with Lilith and Nicole on one side, Gabrille literally laying across them, Alyssa and Jack - he’s totally in the girl gang, too - on the floor in front of them, watching ridiculous romcoms or horror movies or the occasional deeply moving drama. 

But Randall loves it. He’s willing to concede that Knights gained a lot from the Order once Vera took over. They got Lilith back. They got their stuff, most importantly their hide lockers, back. They gained a Knight … on accident, sure … and Midnight still kind of wants to kill Silverback at any given moment but, still. Jack and Lilith got their girls. 

Part of him still bristles with suspicion that this is all just the calm before a new shitstorm, but Hamish and Jack had a point - the allegiance makes sense. It’s time to grow up and kumbaya and work together and shit, now that Praxis calmed their shit down thanks to Alyssa and Vera calming _their_ shit down, and they’re all a big, weird, happy family. 

Except … 

| 

Kidnapped

| 

Tortured

| 

Stabbed,

experimented on,

or otherwise maimed

| 

Died

| 

Demon realm  
  
---|---|---|---|---|---  
  
Hamish

| 

X

|  | 

X

|  |   
  
Jack

|  | 

X

| 

X

| 

X

|   
  
Lilith

| 

X

| 

X

|  |  | 

X  
  
Randall

| 

X

| 

X

| 

X

|  |   
  
  
  


So forgive Randall if he holds onto his mistrust and general distaste for the Order a little longer, much to Hamish’s frustration. Of course, Randall is pretty frustrated himself with Hamish lately. 

Hamish is basically Temple Magus now - all they’re waiting on is the council to meet and vote and make it official, which should be any day once Initiation is over - and while Vera was magicless? Hamish. Ran. That Shit. 

“On her behalf.” 

Pssht, yeah right. 

Which was great for him, but not so great for whatever he had going on with Vera since she was basically dependent on his power. That’s gotta be a textbook example of a toxic relationship, anyway. Luckily, Hamish was too busy to be heartbroken over it, plus he swears up and down and all around that is was just casual, convenient sex. Not that Randall has room to talk, but it’s so much creepier since Vera is involved. 

So how has Hamish’s new role in the Order impacted Randall’s relationship with him? Glad you asked! 

See, Randall is still the Order’s primary attack dog, running surveillance and clearing out suspicious spaces and playing bodyguard for whoever is in charge, which is basically Hamish since Vera is busy doing shady Order things. Not that Hamish really needs protecting, but he can’t exactly wolf out _and_ do magic/boss people around (totally the same thing when Hamish is involved). So, Hamish does the humaning and practitioning and Randall does his werewolfing. 

But Hamish is also still the leader of the Knights. How does he balance the responsibilities of managing not one but two secret societies? Another great question! (Don’t worry, he’s getting to the first one.)

The answer: Randalls somehow became a surrogate mom to a pack of werewolves. Dad. Parent. Whatever. The point is that while Hamish was running the order - “as an extension of the Grand Magus” or whatever - Randall had a mess of magical artifacts literally dumped onto the Den’s front porch, a freaked out new werewolf, a deeply traumatized demon/werewolf, and a lovesick Jack.

So, he organized their newly reclaimed stuff and even read a lot of the journals and books. 

He coached Gabrielle on working with Midnight instead of against him. 

He helped Jack with chasing down and negotiating with Alyssa. And then somehow he wound up helping stabilize Praxis and playing bodyguard during negotiations between them and the Order. He only got to threaten someone twice, which was disappointing. 

He wolfed out with Lilith and tore through the woods, howling until their throats were sore. (He also held her when she changed back, sobbing and screaming. They don’t talk about it.) 

He set up a freaking chore chart. 

But, keep in mind, Hamish is still their leader, so on nights when Randall doesn’t get summoned to the Temple and sent off on a tough guy errand, he waits up for Hamish to get home and they recap Important Order Business and Important Knight Business. 

(Hamish felt horrible for not being there for Lilith. For not being there at all for any of them. Randall squeezed his shoulder and promised they didn’t hold it against him, but he’s not sure Hamish believed him.)

Then they move on to important stuff, like who dealt with the weirdest shit that day, how Lilith and Gabrielle are adjusting, how many arguments Jack and Alyssa got into this week and how loud the makeup sex was, who has more dumbasses in their classes, whose classes suck the worst, and who keeps stealing Randall’s hoodies.

You can call it standard debriefing all you want, but it doesn't feel that way to Randall. It’s all shockingly, sickeningly domestic, but he goes with it because if anyone deserves to soak up the glory of saving the world and new lordship over not one but _two_ secret societies, it’s Hamish. Hamish, who lost the love of his life and still took Randall under his wing because he saw so much potential in him. 

Hamish, who entertains Randall’s wild ideas and theories and runs with him until his lungs burn and his muscles shake, until Greybeard is finally sated and content. 

Hamish, who studies with him and quizzes him and forces him to sleep for at least five hours before exams. 

Hamish, who kissed him, slow and sweet, fingers curled around his jaw to cradle his face...

The kiss was Randall’s idea, but thinking about it now makes something ache deep within his chest. They never really talked about it except briefly complaining to Jack, but you don’t kiss someone like that without feeling something towards them, right? That’s how Jack kisses Alyssa, like she’s something precious and treasured. Why would Hamish kiss him like that?

Because he’s willing to do whatever it takes. Obviously. And because he was playing the long game. And because he’s honestly a huge troll who loves to fuck with people, yeah, Randall knows all of this, but Hamish isn’t cruel. Hamish wouldn’t use him as a pawn. But now Randall’s stuck in this, this... orbit around Hamish. He wants Hamish to be happy, more than anything, but watching Hamish move on with his life so easily, like everything is perfectly normal and nothing’s changed, while Randall just … _aches_...

So, back to question one, how’s his relationship with Hamish? It’s good. Great. Totally solid and … just really good. 

Ugh. Stupid Hamish and his plotting and strategizing and his dying devotion to Knights of the Blue Rose - _such_ a dumb name - and his stupid sweaters. 

Another rumble of thunder precedes an even sharper crack of lightning, jolting him back into his present predicament. Moping over Hamish isn’t helping to settle the itch to move, but since it’s Hamish’s fault he’s feeling like an angst-ridden teeanger, Hamish can be the one to deal with him.

Snatching his phone, he fires off, _Wyd?_

_…_

_…_

The response pops up: _Why are you texting me from across the hall??_

He rolls his eyes and types out his reply: _I didnt know you were home. Im bored._

…

…

…

“Oh come on,” Randall yells, “answer my damn text!”  
  
There’s a loud _thump_ from across the hall, followed by the squeak of Hamish’s door swinging open and the creak of that damn floorboard right in the middle of the hall, and then there’s Hamish, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. It’s hard to take him seriously, though, since he’s clearly still in his pajamas - sweatpants so old that Randall could probably see right through them if the lights were on and a plain gray t-shirt - and he’s rocking some serious bedhead. Randall doesn’t get to see disheveled Hamish very often and his fingers twitch with the urge to rake through his hair. 

“What,” he demands, “do you need from me, exactly?”

Randall sniffs indignantly. “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed…”

“Well, someone was up all night grading freshman essays because he spent all day strengthening incantations around campus and then when he tried to log the grades into the system, his computer crashed, and this happened three more times before he said ‘fuck it, I’m going to bed,’ and then all he could do was stare at the ceiling until,” he glances at his bare wrist and groans, “What time is it?”

“Ten,” Randall answers sheepishly.

“Until four hours ago,” Hamish finishes. 

Randall winces. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah.” Hamish sighs and rubs his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s OK. I just figured you’d be up already. Go back to bed.”

“It’s fine, I’m up now.” 

“I was just going to see if you wanted to hang out. I was going to go for a run but,” he jerks a thumb toward the window. “Hey, if you want, we can go get breakfast and you can use my laptop to enter grades?”

“That actually sounds like a really good idea.” Hamish yawns - yeah, he’s _definitely_ awake now - and clears his throat. “And when we get back we can wolf out in the woods to blow off some steam, if you want. Tundra’s kind of ansty today.”

Randall lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, muscles going loose and relaxed at the promise of quality human _and_ wolf time with Hamish all to himself. But instead of verbalizing any of that, he just smirks and says, “I’ll give you something to -”

“‘To blow’,” Hamish rattles off, throwing his hands up as he turns to go change. “Jesus Christ, how did I not see that one coming?”

“You’re losing your touch,” Randall calls after him. 

Once Hamish is dressed - and his hair fixed, sadly, but still looking very soft and touchable - and they’ve assembled their gradebooks and backpacks, respectively, they make the short drive to the cafe. It’s already packed, so Hamish snags a table while Randall waits in line, texting Hamish the password to his laptop and scrolling around his feed until it’s his turn to order. 

He finds Hamish easily in the back corner, already plugging away on Randall’s laptop. He barely glances up as Randall carefully sets down their table number.

“What did you get?”

“Bagel sandwich, extra bacon, over easy. Loaded home fries.”

“Sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen,” he muses. “What did I get?”

  
“Exact same thing.”

“God, I love you.”

If Randall’s stomach does a little flip, it’s just because he’s really, really hungry. 

“I also got you the biggest cup of dark roast they have.”

“You are the greatest thing in my life,” Hamish sighs, fingers hovering over the keys. “Have I told you that lately?”

“Eh,” Randall shrugs, knocking his knee against Hamish’s under the table. “You were pretty stressed out, you deserve it.”

Hamish smiles and knocks back. 

Once their drinks arrive, Randall flips through his flashcards while Hamish plugs away on his laptop, so it’s not surprising that neither of them notice when Angus and Selena slink into the cafe with members of the Order that, honestly, Randall cannot give enough of a shit about to bother learning their names - he outranks them, that’s all he knows - until they’re settling into a booth across them and Randall feels eyes on him and Hamish. 

He nudges Hamish’s knee again and jerks his head toward the Medicums and company. Hamish’s answering glance is much more subtle. “Is there a spell that’ll make them mind their own business?”

“Not that I’ve found. Although there _is_ one that can sew their eyelids shut.”

“Eh, might be a bit harsh. I’m, like, a solid 8.5, they probably can’t help themselves.”

“You know, they still think we’re dating.” Hamish stretches, leaning back in his chair. “Or fucking, I guess the particulars are up for debate.”

Pssht, Randall wishes.

“I’d almost hate to sink their ship...”

Wait, what?

Now it’s Randall’s turn to lean back and assess the situation, squinting across the table. “Are you suggesting we troll them?”

“Oh I’m suggesting we troll the shit out of them,” he confirms, taking a quick sip of coffee.

And deep down, Randall knows he should push back, like, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to be trying to get along with the Order?” Or, “You’re basically Temple Magus, now, are you _allowed_ to troll your minions?” Or, “Hamish, this is a whole new level of mischief, even for you … you OK, bud?” Or, “Listen, I _loved_ fake kissing you but I’d really like to kiss you for real, so I’m not sure this is going to fit into my self care protocols because it’s fucking with my psyche.” 

But what does Randall do? He hums like he’s pretending to think about it, even as he slides his chair closer to Hamish’s so he can brush his knuckles along the curve of the other man’s jaw. He leans in to nuzzle along the shell of Hamish’s ear and he shudders a little - oh _yeah_ , Randall is definitely going to hold on to that little piece of information, even if he magnanimously chooses not to call him out on it - and whispers, “Good, because I fucking _hate_ Angus.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Hamish agrees as he tilts his head to slot their mouths together. 

The kiss is similar enough to the first one to be familiar, to soothe the want that’s been simmering in Randall’s stomach ever since, but the casual, borderline lazy slide of Hamish’s lips against his is completely new, and it’s just enough to set off a flare of _wantneednowmoreplease_. 

A flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. The minions in question are trying very hard to pretend they weren’t staring, but in the rush to appear nonchalant, one of them’s dropped a book on the floor. A suspiciously old, magic looking book. 

He nudges Hamish. “Are they allowed to take books out of the Reliquary?”

Hamish glances at Selena as she hastily grabs the book and shoves it into her bag. 

“Selena is,” he answers, brow furrowing a fraction, “so I don’t know why she’s trying to hide it.”

Randall uses the guise of being sneaky as an excuse to rest his chin on Hamish’s shoulder, but it really does give him a good angle to spy. They’re huddling around another book on the table now while Selena whispers furiously. Angus nods along and interrupts her to point at something. 

One of the newer members looks in his and Hamish’s direction, so Randall quickly focuses his attention on lovingly stroking through Hamish’s hair - and yes, it _is_ soft and smooth thank you for asking. 

“Can you tell what they’re working on?” 

“No,” Randall answers quietly, stealing another look, “but they’re definitely up to something.”

“I’ll have to ask Vera about it,” Hamish mumbles. 

“Shouldn’t you already know about it?”

Hamish pulls back to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad,” Randall insists. “I just thought you knew everything Vera knows since you’re the Pinky to her Brain.”

“That is a horrible analogy. I’m more like the Jarvis to her Stark.” 

“That would imply you know everything, and if you really believed that was true, you wouldn't read so much,” Randall points out. “Hey, maybe you’re the Alfred to her Bruce Wayne?”

  
“Oh _please_ ,” Hamish snorts. “We’re a little past the point of me serving her mixed drinks and getting the door for her.”

“Hey, Albert is way more than that to Bruce!”  
  


“Yeah, OK, true. But, Vera and I are more like … Gandalf and Aragorn. Both respected leaders in their own right who come together for the greater good.” 

Randall chews on that for a minute. “More like Gimli and Legolas since you used to hate each other.”

“I never hated Vera.”

“You hated the Order. Also, none of these people fucked each other, so we’re going to have to dig a little deeper for this analogy to work.”

“I want to disagree with you but I don’t actually have a response to that. And anyway, no, if it was something inconsequential, Vera wouldn’t bother me with it.”

“Yeah, but for all we know, they’re pulling another stunt like when they tried to spy on us and sped up the apocalypse.” 

“Then they’ll just make a huge mess of it and get caught like they did last time.” Hamish leans closer to whisper, “Do you hear any ringing?”

“... no, but-”

“Any horns blaring?”

Randall rolls his eyes, hard. “No.”

Hamish sighs, and to the untrained ear it would sound content but really he’s just being smug. Randall needs to walk him through the Trauma Chart. Wouldn’t be so smug then, would he?

“I still don’t trust them,” he mumbles, reaching back for his drink. 

“You don’t have to trust them,” Hamish assures him, “just trust me.”

Randall reluctantly drops it. But he keeps watching the Practitioners over Hamish’s shoulder until they leave. Hamish is back to being engrossed in his grading, so Randall soaks it up and only slides away when their food arrives.

* * *

Hours later, after returning from the cafe and wolfing out shortly after - Greybeard and Tundra seemed satisfied with the half-assed patrol around campus turned romp through woods -, a pull up contest and then some sparring - because Hamish cheated and had to be taught a lesson -, and a shower for each of them - because, sweat and mud -, Randall's curled up on the couch to finish up a new set of flashcards for the next chapter of his A&P class. He’s relaxed just to the edge of being tired, but it’s his night to make dinner and if he takes a nap now, he’s going to have a house full of hangry werewolves. 

He breathes out a “ _Finally_ ,” and smacks the last index card on the table, stretching his arms over his head while he looks around for a rubber band. It takes a lot, now, to get a good afterburn in his muscles but there’s a satisfying twinge as he rolls his shoulders. 

After organizing his flashcards and tossing everything into his bag, he heads into the kitchen to start in on dinner. None of them are picky eaters - thank God - and at some point Lilith did return with groceries so he’s got plenty of options, but they all eat a metric shit ton of food, so dinners have to be pretty dense. Randall is partial to pasta or tacos on his dinner rotation, but he’s also got a decent stir fry up his sleeve that sounds good at the moment. Easy to cook and whoever cooks dinner tomorrow can easily use whatever’s left over. Wins all around! 

He’s just fishing the veg and meat out of the freezer when his phone goes off. 

Hamish: _Temple ASAP._

Weird. Even weirder is that it was sent to just him and not the group. 

He texts back: _OMW. Everything ok?_

…

…

…

_Everything is fine._

That’s a lot of revising for an “everything is fine,” buddy, but OK. Maybe they’re in trouble for canoodling in public now that Hamish is the Hamilton to Vera’s George Washington - hey, Alexander Hamishton for the win! Talk about foreshadowing...

When he gets to the Temple, he’s thrown off by how empty it is. He expected to run into Jack, at least, maybe Lilith or Gabrielle if it’s a Knights thing, but it’s just him crossing the common space and knocking on the Grand Magus’s door. 

He’s barely through the door before it closes again. He expects to be greeted by the always seated in her throne Vera and the ever standing at her shoulder Hamish, but instead Hamish is leaning against her desk, arms crossed, while Vera pours something into a small cauldron. Whatever it is, it erupts into a white hot flame before simmering down to a hazy blue glow. 

Hamish meets his eyes and announces, “Someone is trying to kill me.”


	2. In which we have (admittedly) filler, Hamish being allergic to feelings, and Randall's friends trying to be helpful (they're not)...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll upload Chapter 3 soon (tomorrow at the latest) since this is mostly just filler and dialogue.

At first, Randall isn’t sure he heard Hamish correctly, because he’s just standing there, and Vera is just sitting there fiddling with her fucking potion, and this is all just a little too chill for surviving an attempted murder. But then Hamish looks away, and Randall catches a look of exhaustion slip over his features for three seconds before he blinks it away. 

Greybeard rises quickly at the flair of rage boiling over in Randall’s chest, gnashing his teeth, ready to claw his way out to address this threat in the bloodiest, most violent manner possible. Randall can only think of two people who would want Hamish dead, and if he can’t find them, Greybeard can. And Greybeard _wants_ \- he hasn’t had a good hunt since they took down Kepler, and it would feel so good to rip those little shits apart for thinking they could go after Hamish and get away with it. 

Well. Greybeard’s instincts are usually right. And Randall agrees - it’s going to feel really fucking good to tear Angus and Selena to pieces. 

Randall’s already turned on his heel to stalk back out, but Hamish is across the room in a blink and grabs him hard by the shoulders. “Randall, _no_.”

Randall, fucking _yes_. 

“We don’t know for sure who made the potion.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Randall huffs out a laugh that’s more Greybeard than him and pushes Hamish off of him. “Selena and Angus have had it out for you since day one, of course it’s them!”

Hamish grabs him, hard, and holds him in place. “We can’t afford to let personal bias cloud our judgment. I’m not saying it isn’t them,” he adds quickly, “but let’s just slow down for a minute.”

“Yeah, well,” Randall snarls, twisting to throw his shoulder into Hamish’s chest, “Greybeard wants to use Angus’s skull for a cup, and I’m pretty down for it.”

“Yeah, well,” Hamish growls as he shoves Randall against the wall and pins him there, “I’m in charge here and I’m telling you to stand. _Down_.” 

Greybeard thrashes, so Randall thrashes. It’s almost enough to throw Hamish off but then blue eyes flash silver and the fingers digging into his bicep sharpen into claws. Greybeard’s never seriously fought Tundra, but instead of backing down, he just thrashes harder. Randall feels every crack and bump in the cold stone wall at his back dig sharply into his skin, and he’s increasingly aware of Tundra’s claws shredding through his jacket down to flesh the more Greybeard fights. Once the pain starts to register, it clears out enough headspace to reign Greybeard back in. Then it occurs to him that Hamish pressing him up against a wall under other circumstances would be … wow. 

He shakes his head and sets that thought aside for later. 

Immediately, he feels Tundra’s claws retract and when he looks up, Hamish’s eyes have already cleared back to blue. 

“Welcome back,” he sighs. “It’s been a while since you lost it like that.”

  
Randall groans, wincing down at his arms. “I’ve never lost it like that. Except when I had the sigil. Greybeard really wanted to fuck some shit up.” 

“He _has_ always been protective.”

“I’m not exactly keen on someone trying to kill you either, for what it’s worth.”

“I’m fine,” Hamish insists. “It was a sloppy attempt to poison me. I smelled it right away and whoever brewed it didn’t factor in a werewolf’s metabolism anyway. For now, we need to keep our heads clear. No new drinkware until we figure out who it is and why.”

If werewolves can pout, he’s positive Greybeard is sulking in a corner. 

“You’re really OK?” 

“I am _fine_ , I promise. And, more importantly, we have a plan.” 

Of course he has a plan. Randall rolls his eyes but takes a deep breath and nods. They’re standing so close that Hamish’s hair brushes against his forehead. He hates how much calmer that makes him feel. 

“So, when are the others getting here?”

“They’re not,” Vera breaks in loudly - oh, yeah, she’s still here. “We thought it would be suspicious for an entire pack of werewolves to show up immediately following an attempted attack on their leader.”

“Then why -”

“It makes total sense that his boyfriend would meet up with him to walk home together, though, doesn’t it?” Vera muses, the ghost of a smile gracing her normally stoic features. “Your little romance has caused quite the stir here lately, Mr. Carpio.”

Hamish groans and steps away from Randall. “Vera, I told you earlier, it’s just a joke.”

That probably shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Randall forces himself not to flinch. 

“Oh, right,” Vera agrees far too easily, “of course. It’s incredibly amusing, for what it’s worth. At any rate, Hamish and I have discussed what we think will be the best course of action. We need more time to figure out who is behind this, and we need to be discrete.”

“And we have to protect Hamish,” Randall reminds her. 

“I thought that would have been obvious.” She rolls her eyes. “Since everyone is under the impression the two of you are dating anyway, it makes the most sense that you stay close to him in case of a more direct attack. Do you have any objections to continuing on with this fake relationship for the foreseeable future?”

“Nope.” 

Wow, way to be subtle. 

“I mean, if it’ll keep Hamish safe and help us figure out who’s trying to kill him, then, yeah. Absolutely. I’m your man. Well,” he amends, turning to punch Hamish’s shoulder, “I’m _your_ man. If you wanna do this...”

“It’s the best plan we’ve got right now,” Hamish mumbles. 

Tracing spell. Protective amulets. Torture everyone till they spill - wow, Lilith and Gabrielle are _really_ starting to rub off on him. 

“Good,” Vera nods. “In the meantime, I will try to figure out what’s in this poison and where it came from. One of you will let me know that you’ve made it home safely?”

“Yes,” Hamish assures her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, gentleman. Oh, Mr. Carpio?”

Randall turns back and she motions for him to approach her desk. Hamish waves him on and goes to wait by the door. 

Once he’s within whispering range, she says, “If, for whatever reason, this arrangement becomes … too much, let’s say, plea-”

“It won’t,” he cuts in sharply. “And I get dibs on whoever’s trying to kill him. Deal?”

“As long as you make it as slow and painful as possible.” He must look as surprised as he feels because she adds, “You might be in love with him but you’re not the only one who cares about him.”

Damn. She’s good. 

He knows arguing won’t convince her otherwise, so he just turns and goes back to Hamish. As they walk out, he realizes his jacket is shredded and ripped beyond repair so they pause for him to toss it in a trash can. Hamish hands over his own jacket and Randall puts up a token protest for about ninety seconds - “You’re bloody and half of your shirt is ripped open. Wear the damn jacket.” - before pulling it on. It fits him pretty well and now he’s debating on whether he’ll give it back or not. 

The moment they’re outside, Randall says, “I’m not lying to the others about this whole thing.”

“Absolutely not,” Hamish agrees. 

Randall glances at him. “You’re being awfully calm about this whole thing.”

“It’s always been a possibility that someone would come after me. Maybe even an eventuality.” Hamish shrugs. “I’ve had the feeling someone’s been watching me lately.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to anyone because…?”

“I thought I was just being paranoid after getting kidnapped. Or too much caffeine, maybe. I should probably switch to decaf, but then what’s the point, you know?”

“Decaf is dumb,” Randall replies. “Great attempt at deflection, by the way, so how long have you known about this?”

“Tundra might have picked up on it a few weeks ago.”

Weeks?! Randall stumbles to a stop and turns to him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I thought he was acting up about something else,” Hamish says without breaking stride.

“There’s something else?” Randall cries. “Why the fuck haven’t you told me any of this?”

“I’ve already dumped a lot onto you lately.”

“OK, hang on a minute.” Randall jogs ahead and snags Hamish by the elbow, pulling him around to face him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Hamish lets out a long sigh. Randall catches the exhaustion slip over his features for three seconds before he schools his expression back into stoic composure. 

“I don’t really know yet,” he says quietly. “I’m still … processing all of this.”

He has got to be the king of deflection. See also: former alcoholism. 

“Come on, Hamish,” Randall steps in closer, “let me help you.”

Hamish’s lips quirk up. “You already are, boyfriend.”

Uh oh, attempt at humor - they’ve reached an impasse. Randall could push his luck but it’s more likely to cause a fight and a spectacular scene in the middle of campus than to get Hamish to talk. Time to cut his losses and try again later. 

  
Also, and maybe more importantly, “You can do better than that. Come on, you had game once.”

Hamish snorts out a laugh. 

  
“Geez,” Randall shakes his head and starts walking, pulling Hamish along with him. “How Cassie could have ever resisted such words …”

“It was more of me relentlessly pursuing her until she gave in, to be honest,” Hamish admits, smiling fondly. “It was kind of pathetic.”

“Still sounds cuter than that shit you just tried.” Randall bumps his shoulder against Hamish’s. “She was probably just looking out for you with the whole werewolf thing.”

“She was.” Hamish bumps him back. “Plus, you know, ‘long is the road,’ blah, blah, blah.”

“I thought the whole point of joining the Order was staying alive.”

“Part of it,” he muses. “You, as I recall, just wanted Lilith back.”

“No, that’s how you got me to go along with it,” Randall corrects him. “I knew you had bigger things in mind.”

“Yeah, OK, fair” He glances down at the ground. “I wonder what Cassie would make of that.”

“Probably not as much as she’d make of this,” Randall points out, gesturing between the two of them. “But, seriously, she’s probably proud as shit. You helped stop the fucking apocalypse and took over the Order, dude.”

“I didn’t take it over.”

“Close enough, Hamboni.”

Hamish shoves him into a bush. 

They spend the rest of the walk back shoving each other and bumping shoulders and still manage to beat the others back to the house, which is a small miracle given Randall _still_ has to make dinner. He’s tempted to just order takeout and call it a day - hell, call it a year, maybe - but it’s easy enough to throw a bunch of stuff into a hot pan and cook some rice. 

Hamish follows him into the kitchen and fills a pot with water and sets it to boil before Randall can shoo him away.

“Go read something in a dead language.”

“Last time you made dinner in a hurry, you set the oven on fire.”

Randall rolls his eyes but lets him play sous-chef. Once everything is in the pan, sizzling and doing its thing, and Hamish has the rice situation handled, Randall ducks out to the bar to grab a beer and a soda. He gives the soda to Hamish, who hums gratefully, and leans back against the counter, keeping an eye on the pan and stirring every now and then.

The front door swings open and slams back shut, followed by the click of heels against the hardwood which get steadily louder until Gabrielle appears in the doorway. 

“Why does it smell like stir fry and depressed, horny teeangers in here?” she demands in lieu of a greeting, collapsing at the table. “Wait, never mind, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know about anything except the stir fry, I’m starving.”

“It’s almost done,” Randall assures her, angling his beer out towards her. “Rough day?”

She takes a swig and makes a face. “Gross. But to answer your question, yes, today was awful.” 

“It really was,” Hamish mumbles, exchanging a look with Randall. “There’s a decent pinot noir behind the bar if you want something else.”

“ _Yass_ ,” Gabrielle groans, pushing herself out of her chair. “See, Randall, someone in this house has decent taste.”

“Debatable,” he snarks back and then says to Hamish, “I’ve got this, go make sure she doesn’t pick something that clashes with dinner. I know how much you hate that even though you’re sober.”

“No, _you_ go shower and change out of my jacket,” he says, pushing Randall towards the door, “and _I’ll_ handle this.”

He’s not getting the jacket back. 

Randall hangs said jacket up in his closet, balls up his ruined t-shirt and tosses it in the general direction of his trash can before jumping into the shower and slicing off all the dried blood. One of the cuts hasn’t healed over completely, but it’s scabbing nicely so he doesn’t concern himself with it. He twists in the mirror to check his back for bruises or scrapes but that all looks to be cleared up, too. 

Being a werewolf is _awesome_. 

He strongly considers just wearing his robe for the rest of the night, but pants are required for serious discussions. Lucky for him, joggers still qualify as pants.

By time he pulls a shirt on and heads downstairs, Lilith’s home and sitting on the couch, shoveling food into her mouth while Gabrielle settles in next to her, her own bowl in her lap and a glass of wine at her side. Lilith waves but doesn’t slow down on eating. He’s not sure if he should be impressed or disgusted. 

“Did you guys not eat today?” he asks, plopping into his favorite chair. 

Gabrielle rolls her eyes. “I had a protein bar at eleven before my lab and then I had to go hide coins for the Neophytes.”

Ugh. Baby Order members. 

“I had a big breakfast and didn’t get hungry again till just now when I smelled food,” Lilith says, dropping her fork with a clang, “And now I ate too fast and I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Where did you go all day, by the way?”

“Oh, Nicole and I went to the farmer’s market and then we went to the movies when it started raining.”

Aw, cute, but he knows better than to say that, so he just nods. 

Jack chooses that moment to wander in and sink onto the couch next to Lilith. He says to Randall, “Hey, I heard you and Hamish were making out at the coffee place this morning?” 

“Hey, Jack, so great to see you, too,” Randall replies cheerfully, “and yeah, that did happen.”

Jack chokes on his food and Lilith has to smack him - has to, obviously - on the back a few times. 

Gabrielle holds up a finger. “Wait, is Jack the only person in this house that you haven’t hooked up with?”

“Hey!” Randall cries, “I can’t help it if physical touch is my love language.”

“Your love language is physical touch?” His attention darts towards Hamish as he crosses the room to his own favorite chair, passing Randall’s abandoned beer back to him. “I totally had you pegged for an ‘Acts of Service’ guy.”

“Eh, they were close,” Randall admits. “Let me guess, words?”

“Can’t remember,” Hamish answers and then, “But, Gabby, to answer your question, yes.”  
  
Jack cringes and says, “Dude, you’re very attractive and all that, but I never want to kiss you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jackalope, feeling’s mutual.”

Gabrielle turns to Hamish. “Is it a wolf thing?”

He shakes his head. “Just a Randall thing.”

“Hey!” Randall glares at Hamish, who shrugs like he had no part in steering the conversation in this direction. “We have actual important shit to talk about, everyone shut up for a second.”

“He’s right,” Hamish says with a sigh. “Someone tried to poison me today.”

His words are met with immediate, stone cold silence, but their group is a rowdy one, so Randall gives it about seven seconds before they all explode. Six … five … four …

“Jesus Fuck-”

“I’m going to murder them. I swear to God, I’m going to-”

“Oh my God, who would be-”

“-ing Christ, why are people always trying to kill us?”  
  


“- rip out their heart and hang them from the fucking ceiling fan!” (Oh, Greybeard likes that idea.)

  
“- dumb enough to poison a werewolf?”

Randall snaps and points at Gabrielle. “Angus and Selena, that’s who.”

“We don’t _know_ who,” Hamish interjects with more than a hint of warning in his voice. “There are plenty of people who probably want me dead, but until we know for sure, no one is acting on this.”

Lilith gapes at him. “Hamish, they tried to kill you! You expect us to just sit here and do nothing?”

“I don’t, but I do expect you to not attack or kill anyone until we have proof.”

“And I have first dibs on the bastard,” Randall tells her, “but I’ll save you and Timber something.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jack leans forward, “Gabrielle is right. Everyone in the Order knows you’re a werewolf. If they wanted to kill you, they’d do it with a spell, not poison.”

Gabrielle drains her glass and adds, “Selena and Angus are dumb, trust me, but they’re not _that_ dumb. Plus if they were going to kill Hamish, they’d want credit for it.”

Randall turns to Hamish. “You said earlier that they didn’t make it right.”

“They didn’t. I only smelled the barest traces of anything that would be lethal to a werewolf.” 

“Maybe they weren’t trying to kill you,” Jack points out. “Maybe they were just trying to send a message.”

“Like what?”

“Like get out of the Order,” Jack says, taking a pull from his beer. “Think about it - when Vera lost her magic, who did all her casting? Who led all the rituals?”

  
Randall points at Hamish. Hamish smacks his hand away. 

“And if that’s what’s going on,” Jack continues, “they’re not going to stop until you step down or die.”

  
Randall catches Lilith mumbling, “I’d pay to see that fight,” under her breath and grins at her. 

  
“Actually,” Hamish says easily, “we have a plan for that.”

“Sort of,” Randall adds. 

  
“Sort of,” he agrees. “Since everyone thinks we’re together anyway, Randall and I are going to pretend to date. He can watch my back without drawing too much attention.”

The plan is met with blank faces and blinking eyes. They’re probably thinking of all the better plans Randall also thought of earlier, which is too bad since he was just starting to - 

“That’s,” Jack begins slowly, “not a completely horrible idea.”

Wait, what?

He goes on, “Think about it - if you guys go out on dates or moonlight strolls through the park or whatever, that’s going to draw out whoever is behind this. Plus they’re going to have to either get way sneakier or way more direct if Randall’s around all the time. And if they’re busy watching you, they’re not going to be watching out for _us_. Sort of like hunting down the magic fluff bunny.” 

There was _nothing_ fluffy about Elenor Taylor, but Randall gets the gist. It’s still not the reaction he was expecting, though, so it takes him a few seconds to articulate a response.

“That is exactly what Vera and Hamish were thinking,” is the best he can come up with. “So here’s the thing - I can’t keep an eye on this one and do literally anything else. You guys are going to have to hunt down leads. And Vera’s trying to figure out what’s in that poison, but there’s gotta be something in the journals to help narrow it down, or maybe there’s something in there about enemies outside of the Order.”

Lilith nods. “Nicole and I can start on the journals tomorrow.”

“Perfect. Jack, you’re my eyes and ears, dude. Whatever you see or hear, chase it down. If anyone’s going to find this guy, it’ll be Silverback.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack answers quickly. “Whatever you need.”

“I,” Gabrielle announces, “will do what I do best and keep an eye on the dipshits.”

“That’s my girl,” Randall sighs and holds out his fist. 

Gabrielle gives him a flat look but bumps her knuckles against his. “I will also help you spin this pretend romance into something that would make Nicholas Sparks nut in his pants.”

“Yeah, this all totally works for me, too,” Hamish grumbles loudly. “Remember me, your leader? The one who makes the decisions around here?

Randall turns to him and deadpans, “Hey, Hamish, I think we should delegate, divide and conquer, what do you think?”

“I think-”

“Great!” Randall turns back to the group. “You heard the man, now someone please tell me you left some food for me.”

“-that that’s all well and good,” Hamish goes on, narrowing his eyes at Randall even as he stands and heads to the kitchen, “but two things: one, we won’t need Gabrielle’s help selling the relationship. People already think we’re dating.”

“Fucking,” Gabrielle corrects. “They think you’re fucking, not dating. And -”

“Second,” he yells from the kitchen, “no one is putting themselves in danger at my expense.” He returns with a plate, which he passes to Randall before turning to the group. “Whatever you find, you bring it straight to me, and I will decide how to handle it. Am I clear?”

Randall catches Jack about to protest and subtly shakes his head. He mouths, “Later” at him and masks it in a yawn. 

“We should set up some protection spells around the house, too,” Jack says instead. “Sigils and stuff.”

“You can’t,” Lilith mumbles, “they’d keep me out, too.”

“Fuck, Lilith, I’m sorry. I -”

“No, it was a good idea,” she says quickly, but it’s hard to miss how she curls in on herself a little. 

Another tense silence falls around the room, punctuated by the sound of Randall’s fork scraping against his plate. He glances at Hamish, jaw tense and gaze fixed on the far corner of the room, and then at Jack, who scrubs a hand over his face and heaves another sigh. 

“Wait,” Gabrielle says, sitting up straighter, “Hamish, don’t you have an apartment?”

Hamish blinks a few times. “Wouldn’t that be the first place someone would go looking for me if they want to kill me?”

“Obviously, but,” Gabrielle continues, “we could sigil the shit out of your apartment, and if they’ve already scoped it out and you haven’t been there -”

“Then they probably gave up and moved on,” Randall finishes, nodding as the idea rolls around in his head. 

“No back up if they make it inside, though,” Jack points out. 

“If it’s just practitioners, we can handle it.”

“And if it’s not?” Lilith asks, crossing her arms. “Then what?”

“Then we’ll handle that, too,” Hamish answers. “It’s the best plan we’ve got, Lil. I’m not kicking you out at my expense.”

Before Lilith can argue - and Randall knows she wants to and why she wants to, but it’s a solid plan -, he interjects, “Let me check the apartment for booby traps first.”

  
“Vera should check it out, too. We’ll need her help to set up the protections, anyway.”

“Text her and see if she can do it first thing tomorrow morning.” Randall pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll go pack.” 

Lilith pops up, too, and says, “I’d better help him or else he’s going to pack six pairs of sneakers and no underwear.”

Like he really needs underwear, but whatever. 

Randall detours to the kitchen to dump his plate in the sink and empty beer bottle in the recycling and follows Lilith up to his room where she leans against his desk and crosses her arms, watching as he grabs a duffel bag from the top shelf in his closet and tosses it on the bed. 

“I thought you were helping,” he mumbles as he unzips the bag and checks for any stowaways from the last time he used it. 

“I’m supervising.” 

Of course she is. He pointedly grabs a handful of boxers and drops them into the bag without breaking eye contact. 

“So, are we going to talk about the fact that you’re totally abusing the situation to hook up with Hamish?”

He starts to laugh but when he looks at her, she’s not smiling. “What?”

“Just ask him out like a normal person and let someone who actually knows what they’re doing look after him.”

“Like who?” 

“Like Vera?”

He yanks his sock drawer so hard it nearly falls on his foot as he whirls around to tear into her, but she’s just sitting there, eyebrows raised at him with a forcibly blank expression like she’s _daring_ him to start something because she knows she’s right and all she needs out of his conversation is to hear him say it. 

“This was his and Vera’s idea. I’m just rolling with it.”

“How generous of you...” 

“What’s your point?” he snaps. 

“My point,” she sighs, “is that you’re too close to this, Randall. You’re going to get yourself killed trying to protect him because you think that’ll make him love you back.”

He shoves the drawer back into place with enough force to shake the entire dresser and grabs it so hard his knuckles turn white. To stop it from rattling. Not because he’s pissed off or hurt or wondering if Lilith is right and he’s not only being pathetic but also risking Hamish’s life. 

“Get out of my room.” He hates how tight and strained his voice sounds.

“I’m trying to -”

“Get. Out.”

Lilith stares at him, taken aback for the slightest moment before shoving past him and disappearing down the hall toward her own room. Randall turns to close the door but finds Jack standing there, looking like a sympathetic deer in the headlights.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it,” he answers, smiling apologetically as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Werewolf hearing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Randall breathes, moving his bag aside so they can sit down. “I can’t believe she…”

“She didn’t mean it the way it came out. She’ll come around,” Jack insists, clapping him on the shoulder. “So tell me about this thing with Hamish.”

Randall groans and falls backward. 

“That bad, huh?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, fixing his eyes on his ceiling. “How did you and Alyssa live like this for so long?”

“Miserably.” Jack stretches out next to him. “You wanna tap out and I’ll keep an eye on him?”

“No.” He sighs. “People expect me to be around him and you’re way better at tracking and investigating and shit. I’m too impatient. Plus Greybeard would probably never let me back into my body again.”

“Is Greybeard into Hamish, too…?”

“No! Ugh, gross. He’s just really protective of him, apparently. He went nuts earlier when I found out what happened.”

“Weird.”

“Hamish said Tundra’s been antsy lately, too, so maybe they’re just reacting to the threat. How’s Silverback?”

“I haven’t noticed anything different about him, but you and Hamish have been spending a lot of time together. Maybe they’re feeding off of each other.”

Randall wracks his brain for anything he might have read in the journals to support that theory and comes up empty. Sounds possible, though. 

“Or it might have something to do with you being hot for Hamish,” Jack says lightly.

He definitely didn’t read anything about _that_ in the journals.

He rolls his eyes and refocuses, “So here’s what we know. It is definitely someone in the Order or someone close enough to the Order to get poison into the Temple. But, if the goal is to kill Hamish, it would have to be someone who doesn’t know he’s a werewolf, because the poison sucked.”

“Which is impossible because everyone knows we’re werewolves. Are we sure the poison was meant for him?”

“He’s the only one there who drinks coffee.”

“Right. Because he’s the only one who can work that machine. Where did he even find that thing, anyway?”

“I think he wolfed out and stole it from a Starbucks.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but that would be awesome.”

“So what do we do now?”

“What we do best,” Randall sighs, “we hunt. Well, you hunt. There’s more going on than what Hamish is telling me, so I’ll keep working him over till we get the full story.”

“Yeah, I bet you will.” Randall elbows him in the side. “Ow, shit! Hey, do you think he knows you’re in love with him?”

Randall considers arguing that he’s not in love with Hamish, but he’s too drained from everything else about this day. And it’s Jack. He can be honest with Jack. “No. He would have said something by now. I think … I mean … OK, so this morning was his idea, but technically we were spying because Selena and Angus were being really sketchy with some book, but -”

“What book?”

“Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you guys that!” Randall bolts upright. “They were with some Acolytes and they were all looking at it. Definitely old, definitely magic, and definitely didn’t want us to see it.”

Jack sits up, too. “Could you tell what it was?”

“No, I didn’t get a good look at it. Hang on, we gotta tell Gabrielle about this.” Randall pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts her to come upstairs. “I’ll let you guys fill Lilith in later.”

“Probably a smart move.”

Gabrielle doesn’t bother knocking - so what else is new? - before marching in, planting herself on the foot of his bed and staring at him expectantly, like she has a million better things to do. (Also not new.)

“Selena and Angus had a book this morning at the cafe and they didn’t want Hamish or me to know about it,” he tells her.

“Hmm, did you see the book before or after you started macking on Hamish?”

Jack coughs out a sound that is suspiciously close to laughter. Randall shoves him and says, “Not important, but maybe that’s where they got the idea for the poison.”

“Could be,” she allows, reaching down to pull off her shoes. “But it could also just be another dumb spell to boost their grades or lost ten pounds or pull the giant sticks out of their asses. I’m telling you, they are terrified of Hamish. There’s no way they would go after him if there were any room for error.”

She scoots back until she can wiggle in between him and Jack and lean back against the headboard. “Now, about the fake romance…”

Randall groans and slides off the bed. 

“It’s not fake,” Jack mock whispers.

“It’s half fake,” Randall corrects and goes back to packing. “More than half. It’s like ... seventy percent fake.”

“OK, can I please tell you how this is going to look to everyone else?” Gabrielle asks, and before either of them can answer, she continues, “You guys kiss at the bar once, then Hamish gets in deep with Vera, and it’s all closed door meetings and late night rendezvous. So everyone basically thought Hamish was sleeping with Vera as a power ploy and kicked you to the curb and that’s why you were so pissy all the time.”

What the ….

  
“But _then,_ you were like, ‘I’ll handle the wolves, you take care of the Order,’ all self-sacrificing and noble and ‘Whatever you need, baby, I got this.’”

Randall does _not_ sound like that. Why is Jack laughing?

“Obviously you still loved him, and, trust me, there was never a chance Hamish and Vera would work long-term. They’re too ambitious, and not in a ‘I’m going to push you to be your best’ way, it’s more of a ‘I will always choose my secret society over you,’ way. So Hamish either got what he wanted or finally came to his senses and realized his relationship with Vera will never be anything more than sex and she’ll never support him and understand him the way you do, hence the canoodling in the cafe. A little post-reconciliation brunch, if you will. 

“And now,” she says, eyes glinting in a way that never leads anywhere good, “you’re moving into his apartment together. That’s some serious commitment, right there, boys. Maybe moving a little fast, but hey, you worked it out, good for you!”

He has … no idea what to say to all that. 

She groans loudly. “Don’t you get it? You guys can’t just hug and kiss a little. People are going to expect some serious break up to make up energy here! If you want people to believe this is a real relationship and you’re not just Hamish’s muscle, you’ve gotta kick it up a notch.” 

He looks at Jack, pleading with his eyes for help, but Jack just shrugs.

  
“OK, fine,” Randall says and throws a few shirts in the bag.

“He needs to dote on you.”

“Why can’t I dote on him?”

“Because he broke your heart, you idiot!” She pulls the shirts back out and starts folding them. “He might have even cheated on you, but if anyone asks, do _not_ go into the details. The details are where you get caught.

“Hamish needs to demonstrate his effort to rebuild the relationship. Moving in with him is a gesture of trust and willingness to work out the issues on your part, he needs to respond accordingly.”

Randall turns to Jack. “You still wanna tap in?”

“Nooooo,” Jack answers immediately. “And, I cannot believe I’m saying this, but she -”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“- might be right. It’s been a minute since you guys kissed for the first time, and everyone knows he was sleeping with Vera.”

It wasn’t _that_ long ago. It was … shit, yes it was. 

“Fine. But you get to relay all of that to Hamish, I’m not repeating any of that. Ever.” 

Gabrielle tucks the last of his shirts into his bag and bends to grab her shoes off the floor. “You’re welcome.” 

She’s probably not referring to the plan or the folding, but he doesn’t comment. His brain is too heavy to form words right now.

  
What the fuck is he getting himself into?


	3. In which the plot (finally) thickens, a fake date is interrupted, and Randall's friends are still not helpful...

Greybeard clears the apartment in twenty minutes. For all of its luxurious amenities, there aren’t many places for someone to hide and nothing looks out of place since the last time Randall was here. It’s ridiculously clean, but Hamish admitted - a little embarrassedly - that a maid comes in twice a week if he’s not staying there for an extended period of time. They still need to check her out and make sure she’s not in on this, but everything else checks out so far.  
  


Vera was surprised they’d decided to stay at the apartment. Or she was surprised they came up with the idea on their own, but either way, she, Hamish, Alyssa, and Gabrielle got to work on the incantations while Randall redressed in the very spacious, very fancy looking bathroom. 

He takes a moment to sift through the drawers and cabinets, but all he finds are still-packaged mini toiletries and toothbrushes. The counters are bare except for strategically placed hand towels and soap. A stack of fluffy towels fill the top shelves of the alcove next to the most beautiful and tempting shower he’s ever seen in his life, but he’ll have plenty of time to drive up Hamish’s hot water bill later. Plus the shower is completely void of shampoo, soap, and anything else you’d need to, you know, shower. 

Wandering down the hall into the master bedroom, the only giveaway that anyone might live here are clothes in the closet. The dresser drawers are totally empty. The bed is perfectly made without so much as a wrinkle in the bedspread. No shoes, lone socks, storage boxes, porn stash, _nothing_ underneath it. 

He pauses at the nightstand, only because he knows what he keeps in his own nightstand and since Hamish, despite his prim and proper ‘I’m a gentleman, I wear vests’-ness, is a grown ass man. He is, in fact, a grown ass man with refined taste, so now Randall _has_ to look just to see if the lube is in a crystal bottle imported from Paris or some shit like that. He mentally counts to three and pulls open the top drawer to …

Nothing. 

The man does not even keep lube and condoms in his own apartment. Now this is just depressing. Upside, though - the place is so bare, it’s hard to think anyone actively trying to find Hamish would waste much of their time here, so it’s probably safe for now. 

A quiet knock grabs his attention. Alyssa smiles at him, looking around appreciatively. “This place is way nicer than the wolfhouse. You should just all move into the building.”

“I don’t think it’s werewolf-proof, unfortunately. You guys find anything?”

She shakes her head. “No one’s been here but the maid.”

“Good. As long as the maid checks out.”

“Marsha Louise Lewis is forty-nine years old, lives about thirty minutes outside of the city with her husband of twenty-eight years and three children,” she rattles off, smirking when she notices he’s impressed. “I’ve got friends keeping an eye on her, too, in case she turns out to be our assassin, but so far the worst thing she’s done is eat all of the cookies in the middle of the night.”

He knows “friends” in this case means Praxis.

“Sounds like a real monster. Can we trust your ‘friends’?”

“Completely,” she answers firmly.

“I don’t like involving more people than we strictly need to. I’m sure Hamish isn’t thrilled about it, either.”

“I get it, but they’re good people, I promise.” She takes a step further into the room and gently grabs his arm. “Hamish will be fine. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

He focuses his attention out the window. The view overlooks downtown, silhouetted against the waterline. It’s probably stunning at night. 

“Hey,” Alyssa squeezes him until he looks at her, “at least you’ll finally get to pick what to watch on TV.”

“Ha ha,” he replies in a flat voice, but it does get a smile out of him. “Watch him have a million channels and there still be nothing to watch.”

“Just turn on a nature documentary and make out on the couch.”

He groans. “Does everyone fucking know?”

“Everyone except Hamish, apparently.”

He rolls his eyes and throws an arm around her shoulders, guiding them back out to the living area. She peels away to the balcony, where Gabrielle is, judging by the look on Hamish’s face, recapping her … suggestions … from last night. He laughs to himself and starts to go rescue him but then Vera is in front of him, holding out a necklace.  
  
“Access sigil.” 

Ugh, sigils. He takes it carefully, waiting for it to sting or burn him or turn him into a rage monster, but nothing happens. 

“No one can access the apartment without one.”

He pulls the sigil on and tucks it under his shirt. “Thanks, Vera.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, Grand Magus.”

She nods, glancing out to the balcony. “I wanted to tell you that Hamish and I … we never … I mean, we _did_ , but we were never-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Randall assures her, almost as relieved as she looks that she didn’t have to finish that sentence. “Thanks, though. I think.”

She almost, but not quite, smiles and leads the way to the balcony. 

“- and you don’t _have_ to hold his hand, you can just, like… here, Alyssa, give me your arm and … see?”

“I think,” Vera says loudly, “it’s time to let the boys get settled. And, Hamish, you have state of the art appliances, for the love of God, please do not live off of takeout for however long this takes.”

She turns to Randall and says, “Be good,” and motions for the girls to follow her out. Alyssa smiles reassuringly and Gabrielle whispers, “Or don’t be,” with an exaggerated wink. 

All Randall can do is laugh under his breath. Next to him, Hamish groans loudly and buries his head in his arms where they’re folded atop the ledge, and Randall can only respond by laughing even louder. Hamish shoves him without even looking up. 

* * *

After they’ve unpacked in their respective rooms and ventured out for groceries and ordered takeout anyway because their brains were too fried to even think about cooking - sorry, Vera -, and Randall has taken full advantage of the shower, they both find themselves winding down on the couch. Maybe winding down too much, because when they first sat down, they were watching something about penguins and he must have nodded off because now there’s a crab jumping from rock to rock in the surf spray. Penguins and crabs don’t even live in the same hemisphere, do they? 

Hamish glances at him and says, “Go to bed.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he replies, rubbing his eyes. “Your couch is really comfortable, though.” 

“I know.” Hamish stands and crosses the room to open what Randall thought was a bench but turns out to be a stash of blankets. “I used to sleep there all the time.” 

“It’s better than my bed in the dorms, that’s for sure.” A blanket comes flying his way, and he barely manages to catch it before it smacks him in the face. “So I figured in the morning we’d check out your office first thing. I might camp out there between classes, too, just in case.”

“That’s probably against the rules, but since when has that ever stopped us?” He settles back onto the opposite end of the couch. “I’m starting to think it would be easier to just let them kill me and get it over with.” 

“Hey!” Randall grabs the pillow he’s been laying on and throws it at him, hitting him square in the chest and flopping to the floor. “None of that!”

“I’m just saying-” 

“Well stop ‘just saying’!” He fires off another pillow but Hamish catches it easily. “I get that this sucks, and you’re ‘processing’ or whatever but this won’t be for forever.”

“No, it’ll just be until the next person wants me dead. Randall, I swore an oath.”

“I took the oath, too. I don’t remember the part about rolling over and letting people kill us without a fight.”

“That’s not-”

“What if it was me? If someone wanted me dead, you’d fight like hell, right?”

“You know I would.”

“OK, great, then pretend you’re doing this for me and don’t say shit like that,” he snaps, turning his attention back to the TV. Now there are seals. He has no idea what the hell they’re watching anymore but the babies are cute. 

He can feel Hamish staring at him, but he pointedly ignores him and focuses on the fat, fluffy baby seals. Except … now the adult seals are mating. Wow. Right in front of the babies. The male seal is absolutely massive and … geez. That’s … that’s a lot.

A choking sound from Hamish’s end of the couch grabs his attention, and he glances over to see that he’s trying not to laugh at Randall. And failing.

  
“Your face,” he sputters out. 

“It’s fucking seal porn, what is my face supposed to look like?”

That just sets him off more and sadly, Randall’s out of pillows to throw. He could throw the blanket but it’s really soft and Hamish doesn’t deserve soft things right now. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Randall tries to say in a firm voice. The seal makes a very loud noise and he’s afraid to look. “Please change the channel.”

Hamish shakes his head and keeps laughing his ass off so Randall leans over and steals the remote. He has to bite the inside of his cheek and repeatedly clear his throat to keep from joining in. 

“How can you have a million channels and still not have anything to watch?”

“That’s how we got stuck on this in the first place,” Hamish sighs, laughter finally winding down. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

Randall continues flipping through channels.  
  


“I mean it.” The couch dips as he slides closer. “I’m not trying to be difficult about the whole, I’m still -”

“If you say ‘processing,’ I’m -”

“I don’t want to die.” 

Randall looks up sharply but Hamish is pretending to be mesmerized by the pattern of the blanket, tracing a finger along the swirls where they pool in the space between them. He follows one particular line back up to Randall’s leg and lets his hand drop, fingers curling loosely around his knee (it does not make Randall’s stomach drop, thank you very much). 

“I just…” He shakes his head. “We saved the world and we’re still here, how do I live through that and just … die now?

“Yeah. That is pretty dumb.” 

Hamish’s answering laugh is quiet, brittle in a way Randall’s never heard and never wants to hear again. He slips a hand under the one covering his knee and carefully weaves their fingers together. It’s probably too intimate a gesture, too familiar even for them and bound to give him away, but it’s either that or wrap his arms around Hamish and hold him forever.

“But it’ll be OK,” he says softly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Hamish squeezes his hand and says just as quietly, “I know.”

A loud, angry honking noise erupts from the TV, sending Randall six feet into the air before landing on his feet and whirling around to see the elephant seals are back, but now they’re fighting instead of boning and, holy shit, those things have some gnarly teeth.

Hamish waves the remote triumphantly.  
  


“You giant bag of dicks!” Randall yells, wadding up the blanket and hurling it at him. 

Hamish grins, shaking the blanket out to fold it back up, but Randall grabs it and yanks it back. “I do feel a lot better now.”

“Oh good!” Hamish laughs and Randall gives him the finger. “You’re the worst.”

“I’ll make it up to you on our fake date tomorrow.”

“We have a fake date tomorrow?”

“We’re going to be having lots of fake dates, according to Gabrielle.” 

“Yepp, she’s Team Ramish all the way.”

“... is that what they’re calling us?”

“It’s what I’m calling us. So do I get to know what we’re doing, or …?”

“No. And I’ll probably take you to dinner at some point, by the way. Do you own anything other than jeans and sweatpants, or do we need to do the _Pretty Woman_ thing where I give you my credit card and send you to buy respectable clothes?”

No, but they could totally do the bed thing. Or the bath thing. Oh, or the piano thing. That was hot.

“I’ll come up with something. Oh, and I know you’re deflecting again.”

Hamish rolls his eyes so hard Randall’s concerned his face will get stuck like that, which would suck because he really likes his face, but he doesn’t miss the smile pulling at his lips. 

* * *

To say that Randall would have been better off going to bed when he first woke up from his cat nap on the couch would be a serious understatement. Instead, he’d watched more of the documentary series with Hamish and now he probably knows as much, if not more, about oceans and marine life as Jack in his first year in the marine biology program - assuming he hasn’t switched again. Once the series ended, they each went off to their respective beds. Instead of sleeping, though, Randall just stared up at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then out the window. And now the other wall.

  
As much as he wants to blame the new surroundings and dozing on the couch for fucking up his sleep schedule, the truth is that he can’t stop replaying his conversation with Hamish. If he ever brings it up again, he has no doubt that Hamish would brush it off, or maybe even say he was just trying to lure Randall into a false sense of security before freaking him out with the seals again. Tundra _is_ the cunning one, after all, and Hamish has worn that hide so long they’re practically one in the same - even a small harmless con is still a con. 

Getting Hamish to open up on a good day is like breaking into a safe only to find a “Gotcha!” note where there should be a fortune. Randall knows for a fact that he’s the only one who can bring up Cassie without getting frozen out for the rest of the day - it’s fine if Hamish brings her up, but if the syllable “Cas” comes out of your mouth, it better be followed by “ting” and be related to the Order - and Hamish entertains his arguments longer than anyone else’s. Not that Randall usually wins the arguments, but at least Hamish hears him out. 

So Randall knows what happened earlier, that’s real. And for Hamish to be scared like that … 

His fingers find the sigil around his neck and trace the pattern around and around, like it will conjure up extra protection. Like Hamish will somehow feel it and know he’s there. 

Maybe Lilith is right. Maybe he’s not the right guy for this job. 

How the hell is he going to keep it together on the fake date? Fake date _s_. As in plural. As in there will be more to come, unless they catch their would-be killer on the first day. 

Hamish said he’d need _real clothes_ , like he’s planning on taking him somewhere _nice_.

He should have tapped out. They’re - he checks the time on his phone - three hours into day one and he’s going all soft and squishy already. He’s going to fucking swoon, and he never swoons! Randall Carpio does not swoon - not because he is a man, voice in his head that sounds like Lilith, because men can totally swoon and deserve to be the object of romantic gestures just as much as women do -, Randall Carpio makes other people … well, actually he mostly just makes them laugh or melt or some combination of the two. But it works.

There’s a gym on the first floor of the apartment complex he’d really like to check out right about now but he’s not willing to leave Hamish on his own, sigils or no sigils. 

There is another way he could work off some of the stress, but it would be wrong to jack off in a bed that’s not his, right? Not to mention his brain will definitely wander to Hamish, and Hamish is his friend and right down hall, that’s gross, right? Especially since they’re werewolves with enhanced hearing and smelling and he would be practically begging to get caught. 

Except it’s also kind of hot ... Nope. Not going there. Not on night one. 

But now that he’s already considered it, his dick is getting in on the idea, and - NO!

He rolls onto his back, taking the pillow with him so he can smother himself with it. It must work, though, because the next thing he knows, the alarm on his phone is going off. He smacks around the bed and nightstand until he finally grabs it and silences it. Then he forces himself to sit up, lets himself whimper at how tired he is for a few seconds, and pushes himself out of bed. He hoists his bag onto the bed to find something to wear and his hand nudges something rolling around at the bottom of it. Digging around and shoving his clothes aside reveals a bottle of lube he’s never seen before in his life, and a post-it note: 

_So you can go fuck yourself. - Lilith_

_PS Sorry for what I said when I had feelings._

It is both a relief and a deep, deep disappointment that he didn’t know about this lube a few hours ago. 

He texts her a middle finger emoji … and then a kissy face emoji. Almost immediately he gets back an eggplant, a ham, and water drops. He blushes so hard it burns so he can’t even look at her message anymore.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the kitchen, where the coffee is already made because Hamish programmed it the night before, bless him. He pours two mugs, leaving room in his own and none in Hamish’s - he tried to tell him he doesn’t have to punish himself by drinking black coffee, but then he got lectured on the nuances of flavor based on origin and roast and whatever else goes into a coffee bean - and sets them on the counter. 

The man himself turns the corner, impeccably dressed and looking well rested, and mumbles a “thanks,” as he takes his mug. 

Randall grunts and grabs milk from the fridge. 

“I take it you slept well, then.”

“I did for two hours,” he says. “It’s my own fault for falling asleep on the couch. Want anything to eat?”

He shakes his head and since it’s a pain in the ass to cook for just one person, Randall settles on cereal, which he hops onto the counter to eat. 

“There are chairs right there,” Hamish points to the barstools on the other side of the island. “Perfectly good chairs, yet your ass is on my counter.”

Randall is not awake enough to respond cleverly so he flips him off. Hamish just scoffs and drinks his coffee. 

Once he’s eaten and consumed enough caffeine to propel himself into motion, they drive back to campus and set off toward Hamish’s office. Randall can’t remember ever being there before, but he knows from Hamish’s ramblings that it’s basically a glorified closet. And it basically is. Seeing it in person is nearly as underwhelming as going through Hamish’s things at the apartment, but he does have a photo on his desk, front and center. It’s unmistakably a younger, less world-weary Hamish, arms wound tightly around the waist of a similarly grinning girl. 

“Is that …?”

“Yeah.” Hamish leans around him and grabs the photo. “Yeah, that’s Cassie.”

Randall catalogs the golden blonde hair piled messily on top of her head and freckles scattered across high cheekbones. Bright hazel eyes, glowing like she’s about to laugh. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s at least two sizes too big, if the way the sleeves cover all but the tips of her fingers is any indication, and he wonders if the sweatshirt belonged to Hamish. 

  
“You guys look happy.”

“We were, I think. There’s just one thing about this photo.”

“What?”

“I don’t keep it out on my desk. It stays in my drawer.” He finally looks up from the photo. “Someone put this here.”

Randall shoulders his way between Hamish and the desk. “Which drawer?”

“Bottom right.”

Randall grabs a pen off the desk and slides it under the handle to pull the drawer open very, very slowly, ignoring Hamish’s huff of annoyance. “What else should be in here?”

“Just old tests.”

Sure enough, the drawer is full of folders, labeled by semester and year and section, all lined up in perfect order. He pulls them out by the handful until the bottom of the drawer is exposed but it is, as Hamish hinted it would be, totally empty. 

He kneels down and pulls the drawer all the way out to see if anything fell behind it, checks if anything is taped or scratched into the underside. Then he digs through the other drawers and dumps their contents onto the desk, sifting through folders and papers, but nothing. Not a goddamn thing out of place, besides the photo, and everything else apparently accounted for. 

It’s not that he expected to find a driver’s license or student ID or some other slam dunk clue, but why take the photo out and just … leave it there? 

He looks up at Hamish. “Who knows about Cassie?”  
  


“The Knights. Vera. Maybe a few other members of the Order.”

“What happened to the Practitioners who killed her?”

“I slaughtered them.” 

The way Hamish says that, steely and cold without a hint of remorse should not be as sexy as it is but … werewolves, right? “When was the last time you were here?”

“Thursday afternoon.” Four days. That explains why the scent is gone. “They could only have gotten in with magic or a key.”

They haven’t heard any ringing lately, so magic’s out. Randall twists and leans back to check the door but he realizes pretty quickly that he has no idea what he’s looking for. He tests the lock and jiggles the handle and it … seems normal. 

“When’s the last time someone else was in here?”

“I have open office hours, I get at least six undergrads in here crying about their grades every Tuesday and Wednesday. Not to mention the ones who want to argue or just don’t get the material.”

“No appointments?”

  
“I’m running two secret societies, when do I have time for appointments?”

“So you admit -”

“Randall...”

“Yeah, yeah, not the time. You’ve got a list of students who come in, though, right?”

“I keep logs in the middle drawer.” 

They turn towards the desk, now emptied of its contents and covered in files and random office supplies, at the same time.  
  


“Is there a spell for that?”

Hamish lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“Seriously?” Randall cries. “You can open doors but you can’t refile paperwork?”

“Randal, I swear to God -”

  
“OK, OK, I’ll, uh … I’ll put those back. If you just tell me where they … go.”

Getting everything back into the desk doesn’t take that long, probably because instead of trying to help, Randall shuffles through the folders until he finds the sign in sheets. He’s not sure how far back he should go, but he takes photos of everything from the past three months just to be safe before returning the papers to their folders and passing them to Hamish for refiling. (The photo of Cassie gets tucked into Hamish’s bag without a comment from either of them.) 

Ten minutes before he has to head upstairs for his first lecture, Hamish hands over the key to the office. 

“Meet you outside after your lab?”

“It’s a date. Well, a fake date, but … you know what I mean.”

“If anyone comes by before you leave, please don’t answer the door and pretend to be a philosophy expert.”

“Whatever, Lameish. Go preach useless knowledge to the masses.”

“Hey, that useless knowledge is a required course. Also, you need new material. You’ve used ‘Lameish’ at least three times this week.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Randall sighs. “It’s just so good.”

“You can do better.” He turns for the door. “I believe in you.”

He closes the door behind him and Randall crosses the room to lock it. It’s too bad there isn’t a couch in here, but he’s napped worse places than a floor or slumped over a desk in a cheap desk chair. He shoots a text to the group to meet at the Den tonight so they can debrief and sets an alarm for an hour and another for fifteen minutes after that, just in case. Then he pulls his hood up over his head and slouches down as low as he comfortably can in the chair. Even if he doesn’t fall asleep, closing his eyes and zoning out feels fantastic. Plus he feels like he can relax, just a little, since they finally got something on their Hamish slayer. 

What he can’t wrap his brain around is whether this has to do with Cassie or if the photo being left out was a general, “Hey, I know shit, watch your back” move. Anyone who knew her or Hamish at the time would have graduated by now, but someone in the Order would probably have heard by now that Vera inducted the werewolves and could have decided to get even. And Hamish being a TA makes him the easiest one to track down, so maybe this started out as a general “Werewolves killed my friends, even though they were doing shady magic in the woods, I’m going to kill them,” and then, after finding the photo, it turned into “This specific werewolf killed my friends, even though they were doing shady magic in the woods, I’m going to kill _him_.” And this is all assuming they stuck around long enough to get a good look at Cassie’s body to recognize her in the photo, which seems likely because Practitioners can be some really sick bastards. 

The pieces fit, but only just. It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s working the wrong corner of the puzzle. The other possibility is a random student or professor, but why would they want to kill Hamish? Is it a Van Helsing fantasy? Fuck, is there another secret society that wants them dead? 

But, and here’s the kicker, you know who else works in this building?

Selena. And:

  1. Selena hates Hamish.
  2. Selena knows Hamish is a werewolf.
  3. Selena probably heard through the grapevine about Cassie and put two and two together when she found the photo while she was looking for something she could use against him in his office. 
  4. Selena is a slimy, self-serving, doublecrossing, werewolf hating -



His phone buzzes and he flips it over to see a text from Lilith: _Meet at Temple instead. We might have something on the poison._

And then another: _Have fun on your date ; )_

He doublechecks that she moved the conversation out of the group chat before typing out _I hate you_ and sending it off.

A separate text from Jack pops up: _Don’t forget to check the expiration date on your wallet condom._

He doesn’t keep condoms in his wallet because the friction from opening and closing said wallet would compromise its effectiveness, so fuck you, Jack Morton. Which is exactly what he replies.

_Can we even get STDS? You should test that. For science._

If he throws his phone at the wall, how angry is he going to be at himself later? 

_I’M TAKING A NAP, GO AWAY_. 

\---

Even though Lilith and Jack stopped texting him, Randall didn’t get more than a few minutes of dozing before his lab. He was too on edge between the new developments and the impending fake date. But no one tried to get into Hamish’s office, so that was good, and he swung by the lecture hall to check in before heading out. Everything looked normal and Hamish snuck a wink in his direction, so apparently that’s a thing they’re doing now. Winking at each other. What is his life?

His lab was long and boring and the closer it got to one, the antsier he got. He knows he did fine - everything worked the way it hypothetically was supposed to and he checked his work twice so he knows he didn’t zone out and skip any questions or mess up the equations or draw hearts with Hamish’s initials in them all over his report or anything - but labs aren’t a great place to zone out. 

The walk from the physics building to the theology/philosophy building is also just long to push him from nerves to borderline anxiety. And he should be fine, because it’s just Hamish and they’re probably just hanging out and eating lunch and they hang out eat lunch all the time and it’s just pretending and he’s going to be too busy looking for suspicious activity anyway and maybe they’ll call the whole thing off anyway since they have a few leads and he can just go back to … to … to whatever the hell he was going before.

It’s turned out to be a sunny, warmish enough day that the quad is packed with people, but it’s easy to spot Hamish, given he’s the only guy setting up a hammock in a shady corner of the lawn, and - wait, he’s setting up a _hammock_?! 

Hamish looks up as he approaches with a grin. “Hey, babe. How was your lab?”

Randall’s brain short-circuits at “babe.” Also, hammocks aren’t exactly room, so if they’re both going to lay in it, they’re going to have to snuggle up pretty damn close, so there goes another hundred brain cells he’ll never get back. 

“Oh, you know,” he finally remembers to answer, shrugging off his backpack and tossing it next to Hamish’s stuff, “just a lot of sciencing and mathing. What, uh, what about you?”

“Just another fun-filled day of explaining Plato’s cave to a roomful of people who are forced to be there.” 

“Where did you get this?” Randall points to the hammock. 

“I borrowed it from Nicole.” He climbs in easily, folding an arm under his head and holding the other out to Randall. “Come on, you’re the one who didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Not going to get any tonight either at this rate,” Randall mumbles under his breath, trying to figure out how exactly to get in. “Isn’t it going to flip us out or something the second I put any weight on that thing?”

“Nope,” Hamish replies, way too smug.

Right. Magic. Obviously. 

Randall rolls his eyes, smiling in spite of himself, and carefully climbs in. The hammock barely sways but it does dip under his weight and roll him closer to Hamish. 

“This is not a very defensible position,” Randall points out, even as he stretches out, hooking a leg over Hamish’s. 

“Relax,” Hamish tells him. “Nothing’s going to get past Tundra or Greybeard.”

“True.” He sighs, tilting his head against Hamish’s shoulder. “OK, this is amazing. We have to get one and hang it on the porch.”

“Midnight would decide it’s making us lazy and destroy it.” 

  
Randall snorts out a laugh. 

“I don’t know how you deal with him.”

“He has good intentions, deep, deep, very deep down. Plus he’s a fighter and we’re not fighting. That’s his biggest issue.”

“You’ve got a good read on him.”

“I have to if I don’t want him to take over and eat everyone in the house.” He shrugs. The movement jostles the hammock and puts them into a gentle rocking motion. “It’s probably not much different than dealing with me when I first joined up.”

“You didn’t want to kill everything within arm’s reach.”

“Lilith did.”

“I just told her what to do and got drunk. You’re the one who actually spent time with her and Timber.”

He’s … not wrong. Maybe Randall’s always been the Den Mom and he just never realized it. 

“In your defense,” he begins carefully, “that _was_ Cassie’s hide.”

“Thank you, but a leader is supposed to be objective.”

Randall rolls his eyes. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Hamlet.”

There’s a beat of silence before he replies, “Yeah. I know.”

The softness in his voice makes Randall glance up. Hamish is looking at him, too, and their faces are only inches apart. He wouldn’t even have to lean in, he could just tilt his chin up a little and-

A sharp, piercing shrill rings out, like nails on a chalkboard if the chalkboard is his brain. 

They’re both out of the hammock and looking around the quad in an instant, but it’s crawling with people. 

“Think it was your office?” 

“Probably.” Hamish waves a hand and the hammock not only unhooks itself, it folds itself up into a small, neat square and stows itself into Hamish’s bag. “Let’s go.”

Randall grabs a handful of his sweater and hauls him back before he can get too far ahead. “Not till I say clear, got it?”

Frustration flashes across his eyes but he waits while Randall grabs their bags, tossing his over, and sets off across the lawn. Ideally, they’d split up so one could check through the window while the other goes inside, or wait for the others, but nothing about this is ideal. He can’t leave Hamish, and they probably don’t have much time to catch whoever is casting spells. 

“Window or straight in?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Straight in,” Hamish answers quickly. “They’ll be out the door faster than we can make it in through the window.”

  
  


“Right,” he agrees, setting off towards the closest set of doors.

He hears Hamish mumble, “Let’s hope so,” and silently agrees. 

This corner of the building, the tiny offices occupied solely by adjuncts and TAs, was mostly empty all day, which didn’t phase Randall, but now that he’s looking for someone, the bare and silent halls unnerve him. Greybeard senses the shift in the atmosphere, too, and stirs just beneath his skin. 

Randall stops them a few feet away, glancing around to make sure they’re alone, and pulls off his shirt and sweatshirt in one swoop. Hamish steps around him to block the view of anyone coming up the hall.

  
“Do the hand thing,” he says under his breath as he kicks off his shoes.

  
He kicks off his shoes and whispers to Hamish, “Do the hand thing but don’t open it.”

Under any other circumstance, that would have gotten him an eye roll and an “It’s called magic, you could do it, too, if you bothered applying yourself” but Hamish just waves his hand, slowly, willing the lock to turn as quietly as possible while Randall takes off his pants. He closes his eyes as he steps out of them and lets out a long exhale, blocking out everything else except Greybeard.

When he opens his eyes, Greybeard’s taken over. He glances at Hamish, or maybe Tundra, for the briefest moment before lunging through the door and straight into a wall of smoke. 

Greybeard recoils, snarling, and whirls around to find the intruder but everything keeps spinning. There’s brief, blinding flashes of light breaking through the fog, and with every breath, the smoke clings to the werewolf’s throat, thick and heavy and cloying, till he’s stumbling and gagging until he falls forward. 

Randall can’t call him back. He screws his eyes shut and tries to find him, looks for the pacing, the itch, the thrum of restless energy, _anything_ but he’s gone. He comes up empty. 

Changing isn’t pleasant, but it’s seamless. It’s never been painful. This, though? This feels like he’s being ripped into pieces, like his bones aren’t snapping in the right places and his skin is too hot and too tight. Everything feels raw and blistered and he chokes on every breath, then he tries harder to breathe, and he can’t, and everything’s going fuzzy, and -

And it’s gone. Over. 

He’s sprawled out on his back on the floor. He’s shaking and he’s gasping for air, but he _can_ breathe, so that’s an immediate improvement. He looks around and finds Hamish leaning against the far wall, doubled over with his arms tight across his stomach.

“Tell me,” he pants, “you didn’t go in there after me.”

“OK.” Hamish’s face is pale, gleaming under a layer of sweat. “I didn’t.”

Randall groans and sits up, wincing at the wave of nausea Hamish must also be feeling, and forces himself to take slow, deep breaths. “Are you OK?”

“I only ducked in long enough to pull you out.”

“But you felt it, right?” 

“Oh, I felt it,” Hamish confirms, eyes scanning Randall’s face carefully. “What about you? Are you alright?”

No. He’s freaking the fuck out and he’s a little scared to move because he has to keep swallowing down bile, but he’s not about to tell Hamish any of that, though, so he just hisses out, “Getting there,” and stretches - shit, that stings - to grab his clothes just for something to do with his hands. 

A hand presses to his forehead, the touch cool and soothing, and he can’t stop himself from leaning into it and sighing. He opens his eyes to see Hamish kneeling next to him, brow furrowed in concern. “You looked like you’re going to pass out.”

That seems like a weird statement until he spots the cut on Hamish’s other hand and then he realizes that the tremors and cramps are subsiding.

“When did you learn that one?” 

“A while ago. It’s not a cure-all, but it works in a pinch.”

“How long’s it last?”

“Long enough to get to the Temple and find something stronger.” He pulls away gingerly, like he’s worried the moment he removes his hand, everything will start back up full force - Randall sympathizes - but the spell sticks. “What happened to Greybeard?”

“He bailed.” 

“What do you mean he-”

“I don’t know how else to explain it, Hamish.” He stands to put his boxers and sweatpants back on. His hands are shaking too hard to tighten the string at the waist. “We went in, things got weird, and Greybeard peaced the fuck out. I couldn’t get him back.”

“How is he now?”

That is a fan-fucking-tastic question. Randall closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe deep, in and out, nice and easy. Just relaxing, just clearing out the headspace for Greybeard. Totally chill. Everything’s -

Greybeard shrieks and Randall’s stomach twists so hard he gasps and nearly falls back over. 

“Whoa, easy,” Randall looks up, and Hamish is right there, hands on his bare shoulders. “What just happened?”

“He’s fine,” Randall lies, “he just needs a minute to decompress.”

Hamish raises his eyebrows. Randall knows he’s not buying it, but luckily he lets it go for now. He looks back at the office, now clear and sun-soaked like nothing ever happened, and back at Hamish. “You’re not going back in there until this is over.”

“I won’t,” Hamish assures him, way too easily, but his thumb is rubbing back and forth along his collarbone now and how is Randall supposed to confront him when he’s doing that? “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He steps back and bends to grab his shirt. “Are we going to do anything about the office, or…?”

“Sure. Got any ideas?”

“... fuck it, let’s just go.”


	4. In which we take generous liberties with science, Randall can't deal, and they have a new suspect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments to far, I'm thrilled everyone is reading and enjoying so far!
> 
> This one took a bit of a turn that I wasn't initially planning, but here we are... 
> 
> I give you kissing, angst, and a bit of a plot twist!

The magic cure-all does not taste as good without Hamish’s homemade bitters, but Randall downs it in one go anyway and passes the empty glass back to Vera with a nod of thanks. 

Hamish must have texted the group about what happened because the moment they’d arrived at the Temple, Randall was promptly tackled by Gabrielle and wrangled to the bar, where he was met by an expectant-looking Vera holding a champagne glass of cure-all and the rest of their less than merry band of misfits, all wearing varying expressions of concern. 

“You’re sure this will work?” Hamish demands from where he’s hovering over Randall’s shoulder. “He won’t have any lingering effects whatsoever?”

Vera fixes him with a withering look. “It’s a _cure_ \- _all_. As long as it isn’t a bug or a curse, he’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” Randall breaks in, “what happens if it’s a curse?”

“It’s not,” she says simply. “It was the same potion they tried earlier, just ... manipulated a little. Our little werewolf hunter is smarter than we thought. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make a list of all the Belgrave students and faculty who died horrible, gruesome deaths the year Hamish’s girlfriend was killed. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

She turns and marches back to her office before Randall can even open his mouth. Not that he has a response to … well, any of that, except that that list might take longer than she thinks. And, “We’re not dead, how smart can they be?”

“It’s not supposed to kill you.” Lilith heaves a massive grimoire onto the bar with a grunt. “It’s supposed to sever you from your hide.”

Randall pulls the book closer but it’s in a language he can’t read. “OK, give me the Sparks Notes version.”

“When things went sour between the Knights and the Order, the Grand Magus at the time wanted to find a way to keep the hides without killing the champions. He was worried if he just killed them, the hides would never bind to another Practitioner again.”

“Midnight would have.” Gabrielle smacks him upside the head. “Ow! I almost died, like, ten minutes ago.”

“Almost,” she emphasizes, “and you’re already back to being an idiot again, so I’m over it.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lilith continues loudly, “the Magus made this poison and slipped it into the Knights’ wine but they all smelled it and wolfed out and killed him.”

Hmm. A bit more anticlimactic than Randall was expecting. “If it didn’t work then, why try it again now?” 

“Because it did work … sort of.” 

  
  
“After they killed the Grand Magus, a fight broke out and there were too many Practitioners for the champions to fight off, so they all died. One of the hides bound to the new Magus and she tried it on herself.”

Randall’s eyes snap up to meet Hamish’s. He knows they’re both thinking about Greybeard abandoning ship earlier. “Which hide?” 

There’s a beat before Lilith answers, “It was Greybeard.”

Aw, poor Greybeard … no wonder he flipped out earlier. That must be why he went berserk when Hamish told Randall about the poison, too. He wasn’t pissed or being protective. He was terrified. 

Randall keeps his eyes locked on Hamish’s and prompts her to go on. “So she severed the hide and … then what?”

“She died. Hence it only ‘sort of’ worked.”

Hamish’s jaw clenches. “What happened after that?”

“It just says she suffered unbearable pain and died.” She tilts the book toward him so he can see for himself, throwing a confused glance at Randall when Hamish is still staring at him instead of the book. “What’s with you two?

  
Hamish closes the book without looking and stalks out from behind the bar. 

“We need to talk,” he says to Randall in a low voice, and then more loudly, “Alone.”

His tone leaves no room for argument or questions.

  
Randall grimaces at the group - as a joke, of course, because this probably won’t be that bad, Hamish is just super freaking pissed, no big deal - and stands to follow him into the one of the side chambers, doors closing with a heavy, ominous thud behind him. 

He expects Hamish to jump right into whatever’s set him off, then they can yell at each other, one of them will storm off, and once they both cool down, they’ll be fine. But Hamish doesn’t lay into him right off the bat, he just sighs, loudly, and drags his hands through his hair while he paces. Randall isn’t sure he even realizes that he’s in the room.

“Hamish…?”

“What happened earlier with Greybeard after I pulled you out?” he asks, voice cold and distant. “And don’t lie to me this time.”

“He, uh …” Randall can’t stand the look Hamish is giving him so he fixes his eyes on the floor. “He kind of … screamed at me and I felt like I was going to be sick, so I figured I’d just give him a couple of hours and check on him again. See? It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not?” Hamish cries. “Because from where I’m standing, you ran into a wall of poisonous fucking smoke and nearly killed Greybeard and yourself in the process.”

“No, I ran into _your office_ to catch whoever is trying to kill _you_ , which is my job. I do this stuff all the time.” He doesn’t add, ‘On your orders,’ but the implication hangs in the air between them all the same.

Hamish shakes his head. “We agreed, no one is getting hurt or killed at my expense.” 

“Look, I’m freaked the fuck out, my werewolf is mad at me, and I’m tired as fuck, but none of those things are going to kill me. Let’s just add this to the list of weird shit that’s happened this year and get back to work, OK?”

Muffled voices and footsteps headed their way catch both of their attention. It sounds like it’s coming from the opposite direction of the bar, so it can’t be anyone Randall would want to include in this conversation. 

He turns back to Hamish, about to suggest getting back to the group, but Hamish rolls his eyes and mumbles, “This conversation isn’t over,” before grabbing Randall by the front of his shirt and kissing him, which ... works, too. But it catches him off guard so he stumbles into it, which forces Hamish back against the table, and since Hamish’s body was the only thing keeping Randall from falling even farther forward, the whole thing ends with Hamish _on_ the table and Randall braced over him, standing between his legs. They somehow manage to not break the kiss - it’s because drunk Randall is an affectionate Randall so sober Randall has all the muscle memory necessary to keep making out even while he can barely stand up -, just shift the intensity from a quick press to something bordering clumsy and messy and finally landing on really, really good. 

The angle gives Randall complete control over the kiss, which would be a lot more satisfying if this wasn’t for pretend and if they’d discussed how far they were willing to take this charade, because right now, all the blood in his body is rushing south _fast_ and that muscle memory that previously kept him upright has him wanting to do some borderline filthy things. 

But he pulls away, just out of reach, to give Hamish a chance to bow out or punch him. 

“Too much?” he checks.

Hamish scoffs. 

Well, OK, then. 

He dips back down and bites Hamish’s lip hard enough to surprise him into making a noise - a gasp caught between surprise and, wait, he seems into that, how _interesting_ \- and licks into his mouth. It gets him another noise, this one breathier - also interesting -, so Randall does it again and again, losing himself in the hot, wet slide of Hamish’s mouth against his. 

The hand in his shirt migrates to the back of his neck, holding him in place even as Hamish presses up against him, like he can’t get close enough. Whatever this is to him, he’s into it, _really_ into it, and Randall is fucking gone. 

Is it selfish? Yep. Morally questionable? Definitely, but so what else is new. Is he only hurting himself in the end? For sure. But when it comes up later, he’ll say he was just playing the game, because that’s all this is, isn’t it? A diversion, something shiny to flash in people’s eyes while they hunt down another rogue Practitioner and laugh about later. Just another trick of the light, blink and it’s gone, so if this is all Randall gets, he’s going to take it. He knows it’s going to suck later, but for now? For now he’s going to lower himself onto his forearms and try to get Hamish to make that noise again.

And then someone in the general direction of somewhere behind them clears their throat. 

  
They both turn to see three wide-eyed Acolytes shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot and trying to look anywhere but at them. One of them’s blushing. 

  
He turns back to Hamish, trying not to focus on how red his lips look, and bites back a frustrated groan as he straightens up. 

Hamish doesn’t bother, though, heaving an exasperated sigh as he sits up. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“We did.”

“Well, next time,” he says loudly, taking Randall’s hand and pulling him toward the door, “knock louder.”

“Does the Grand Magus know you’re making out in the Temple?”

“Probably,” Hamish answers without a lick of shame, and then adds to Randall is a lower voice, “It’s not like she never brought me in here for the exact same reason.”

Randall groans, “Dude, don’t tell me that. And don’t make out with me where you made out with your ex, that’s weird. And gross. And _weird_.”

“That’s not why I took you in there!” He glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Also, that’s going to be difficult.”

Is that supposed to be impressive…?

When they get back to the bar, everyone rushes to situate themselves in a way that would not suggest they were not talking about them and eagerly waiting for them to return. Except Vera, who is back with a stack of papers and staring them down over the rim of her glass.

Yeah, she totally knows. 

Randall settles back into his chair with Hamish standing against the bar next to him, close enough that their shoulders bump.

“So,” Hamish begins, glancing around and leaning in close to the group, “we have reason to believe the poison works.”

“Probably,” Randall corrects. “It probably works.”

Hamish gives him a flat, long-suffering look. 

“Sorry, go ahead.” 

Hamish catches them up on the photo, the smoke bomb, everything up to the point of their arrival to the Temple. Randall does his best not to fidget at being discussed while he’s sitting right there but he ends up drumming his fingers on the bar, just for something to do and then keeps it up to fill the silence stretching long after Hamish finishes speaking. 

The realization strikes him that if the poison works, if someone figures out how to alter it so that it doesn’t kill the Knight or the Champion…

The fact is, two of them didn’t choose to join the Knights, one of them joined after having her memory wiped so who’s to say in hindsight whether that was a sound decision, and one of them joined because of a girl. You could argue that Randall didn’t know what he was getting into when he went into the room full of hide lockers, but he knows where he stands - he’s a Knight. He’d rather die than give it up. He thinks the others do, too, but if they had an out… 

A hand covers his, gently curling around his fingers to still them. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Hamish’s. 

Vera finally breaks the silence, “So what I’m hearing is that we’re dealing with a highly experimental poison, we only have one account of it ever being used before from a book dating back to the third century with more pictures than details, we still have no idea who’s behind this, and we have no way to trace them since the photo never left Hamish’s possession.”

“We still have the logs and list to check,” Randall tries to argue, but even he knows they don’t have shit. 

She rolls her eyes as she grabs the bottle from behind the bar and refills her glass. “Give me the photo anyway. We might get lucky.”

Hamish’s thumb brushes over his knuckles as he pulls away to dig through his bag. He doesn’t even glance at the photo before passing it to her. 

“I’ll give it back,” she promises quietly. “Come by before you leave. There’s something else we need to talk about.”

She takes the photo and her drink and turns to go, but she stops and says to Randall, “The goal of this operation is to keep Hamish _and_ you alive. Please try harder not to get yourself killed.”

That might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. “Thanks, Vera.”

She gives him a hard look.

“I mean, Grand Magus.”

“That’s better,” she mumbles and goes back to her office, heels clicking against the floor.

Once her doors close, Jack turns to the group. “The gas had to be contained or triggered by something. If it’s still in the office, we can trace it back to its owner.”

“Not gas,” Randall corrects, “smoke. They probably put a drop of poison on the desk and cast a spell to ignite it, boom! Smoke Cloud of Werewolf Doom.”

“Then why couldn’t you guys smell it?”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to smell...” All he’s getting are blank stares, so he turns to Hamish, “You thought you were only smelling traces of it because they didn’t make it right, but what if they just gave you too much?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Hamish mumbles. “What’s in this stuff, anyway?”

“It doesn’t say,” Lilith says, watching as he flips through the pages. “The Magus is holding a smaller book in the pictures, so maybe the recipe is somewhere else.”

Randall perks up at that. “Hey, you know who has a weird book and was acting sketchy the other day?”

Jack pretends to think very, very hard. “Is it … Selena and Angus?”

“That’s _right_ , Jack o’Lantern, up top! Hey, Gabby, what were the losers up to today?”

“They were in class and doing Initiation stuff all day, no sign of the book.” She crosses her arms and leans on her hip against the bar. “I tried leaning on a few of the Acolytes earlier and they nearly shit their pants, which was _so_ gratifying but not exactly useful.”

“Alyssa and I can try,” Nicole suggests. 

  
Lilith grabs her girlfriend’s hands. “I love you, Nicole, but you don’t have a subtle bone in your body.”

“No, but I’m nice to people,” she points out, “and I don’t walk into the room like I’m going to murder the first person to make eye contact with me.”

Alyssa adds, “We could probably even get them reassigned to us as their tutors.”

Now _that_ is sneaky. He takes back all the times he complained about Alyssa. She’s awesome.

  
He turns back to Hamish with raised eyebrows and gets an incredulous look in response. 

“You realize we’re talking about the same Acolytes who just walked in on us in the other room, right?”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I was so close to being impressed, Randall,” Hamish sighs. “So. Close.”

“Yeah,” he says under his breath, “you seemed really impressed earlier.”

“I’m not the one who wound up naked after the first date,” he replies with a smirk - don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush - as he pushes himself off the bar. “I’m going to go talk to Vera.”

Randall calls after him, “My other plan is to lock you in your apartment until this is all over.”

Hamish flips him off without missing a beat.

Jack kicks Randall’s shin to get his attention. “I think you’re rubbing off on him.”

“Not in the way he’d like to,” Gabrielle mumbles out of the corner of her mouth.

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush!!!!

* * *

The list from Vera is longer than he expected. She must have taken the liberty to pull everything from the time Cassie would have been a student and a full year after - she’s scary but she’s thorough, that’s for sure - and it _is_ Belgrave and they _did_ have two warring secret societies at the time, so he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Dividing it between the Knights makes it slightly less daunting, but he wishes there was a magic spell version of Ctrl+F to make it go by faster, especially when you consider people could have different last names and still be related, or they could have the same last name and not be related at all, so now you have to factor in some light social media stalking… he’s on overload and clinging to his last few precious brain cells. 

He took a break not that long ago to get food with a plan to swing by Hamish’s office before he returned, but Jack and Alyssa beat him to it. There was no trace of the smoke, the poison, or the poisoner. All that was left were some singe marks on the desk. 

He texted Hamish to let him know about his office and that he’d gotten him something to eat, too. It's only been a few minutes since he the _Thanks, almost done_ message came through, but Randall is itchy from being in the Temple too long so it feels so. Much. Longer.

The doors to Vera’s office finally creak open and Hamish steps out, looking as tired as Randall feels. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, collapsing into the chair next to Randall’s. 

Randall waves his apology off and passes him the bag of food. “Everything OK?”

“Depends on how you define ‘OK,’” he mumbles and starts tearing into his food like he hasn’t eaten all day - which, now that Randall thinks of it, maybe he hasn’t - and elaborates between bites, “We didn’t find anything traceable on the photo, so that sucks, but I told Vera your theory about Selena and Angus and she agreed to re-assign the Acolytes.”

“Does she think they’re in on it?” 

“No, but she didn’t think they’d turn on her earlier this year, either.” 

“They really need to reevaluate their selection process. That should be your first order of business when they make you Temple Magus.”

“That’s the other thing.” He grabs Randall’s water bottle and takes a drink. “The Gnostic Council is scheduled to meet next week to vote on the next Temple Magus.” 

“Who else is in the running?” 

“No idea. It’s a nomination thing, not an election.”

“Considering how ruthless everyone in the Order is, that’s probably a good thing,” Randall mumbles. “So far everyone on my list was doing shit they weren’t supposed to be doing and it backfired. Nothing sounds like a werewolf attack yet.”

“How many more names do you have to check?”

“I don’t know,” he groans, sinking further into the chair. “There are so many dead people, Hamish.”

Hamish chuckles. “It’s not like we weren’t expecting that.”

“I know, but still. Oh, hey, one of these guys is a legend in the pre-med program, ‘cause the lie they came up with was that he pounded too many energy drinks and his heat exploded before an organic chem exam.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah! Except, he actually screwed up a dick enhancement spell and blew himself up, so that sucks."

“There’s no such thing as a dick enhancement spell.”

“Are you sure? That’s the first thing I’d expect someone to do with magic.”

“Don’t look so disappointed. It’s not like you need it.”

And now Randall needs that water bottle back because it’s the closest thing he can get to a cold shower right now. Should he say thanks, though? They’ve seen each other naked a million times so he knows Hamish is similarly not lacking in the dick department, aaaaaand now he’s thinking about Hamish’s dick, abort, abort!

“Although,” Hamish adds, totally oblivious to Randall’s plight, “I guess it could have been a bad attempt at a transference or maybe a glamour spell.”

“Mhmm,” he says around a gulp. 

“You know, now that you mention it, it seems like we don’t use magic for very practical purposes.” 

Aside from opening doors, tracking down missing people, and brewing cure-alls, he’s not technically wrong. 

“More importantly, though, how have I never noticed that you blush like that before?”

Great. Thanks, face. 

“Who knows,” Randall replies a lot more casually than he feels, “wanna see how far down it goes?”

Hamish’s eyes wander down from Randall’s face to his chest. “If I tell you I’m imagining it, will you blush harder?”

Of course he will, but Randall just shrugs. “Guess you’ll never know.”

He smirks, leaning way closer than necessary to grab the water bottle. “We’ll see.”

This seems flirty, right? Is … is Hamish actually coming onto him right now? Did their mini makeout fest earlier flip a switch earlier? Randall takes a quick glance around and it _is_ getting crowded, so maybe he’s just keeping up appearances. Can he ask? He should ask, but if he asks, then he’ll _know_ and at least now he can pretend and obviously he’d keep doing it because it’s going to keep Hamish safe, plus he’s managed this long, he can suck it up a little longer, and maybe… maybe … maybe he’s just tired and overthinking everything and reading too far into it. Either way, he’ll take what he can get.

He presses a kiss to Hamish’s forehead and murmurs, “You’ll have to step your game up for that.”

Hamish huffs out a breathy laugh and pulls away, grinning. “Ready to get out of here, _baby_?”

Yeah. They’re definitely pushing buttons. All the buttons. Randall is doomed. 

They head out, mostly ignoring the stares but Randall does notice the blushing Acolyte from earlier and winks at her. He considers asking Hamish to stick around so he can see if she faints, but there is a fancy gym waiting for him at the apartment, not to be outdone by the world’s most incredible shower or the spectacularly comfortable couch. He’s not entirely sure what to do with Hamish while he’s downstairs working out so they do a quick test when they get back to the apartment that involves Randall taking off his sigil and trying to walk inside, only to be knocked onto his ass by an invisible force field. 

Ugh, sigils. 

He changes, grabs his earbuds and keys, and leaves Hamish stretched out on the couch, mulling over the lists with a mug of tea steaming on the coffee table, calling over his shoulder, “Text me if something comes up, Hamsome.”

The door nearly closes before Hamish realizes what he said and Randall catches the tail end of a groaned out, “Dammit, Randall…” 

Yeah, how’s that for new material?

The gym is not only just as fancy as it looks, it’s also nearly empty. Normally that wouldn’t strike Randall the way it does now, but seeing such a large space to empty unnerves him. At first he thinks the anxiety might be Greybeard’s, but poking around in his subconscious only finds a dormant werewolf. He doesn’t snarl at Randall this time - major improvement - but he also doesn’t sense a threat so wherever this is coming from, it’s definitely just Randall. 

If he’s honest with himself, he’s been on thin ice all day. Now it’s cracking under his feet.

He cranks his music up as loud as he can stand it and tries to focus on his movements and the burn in his muscles, but he can’t shake the uneasiness. He trains until his shirt is heavy with sweat and clings to him and he’s close to exhaustion but the feeling doesn’t settle, even as he heads back up to the apartment. 

Hamish must have migrated to the kitchen at some point, even though he’s exactly where Randall left him, because he opens the door to something that smells incredible. 

He glances up at the sound of the door. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he greets, kicking off his shoes. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Dinner should be ready when you’re done,” he replies easily, but he’s giving Randall an odd look. “You OK?”

“Yepp.” 

Nope. 

The minute he closes the shower’s glass door, hits him full force. 

He nearly lost Greybeard. He couldn’t change. If Hamish hadn’t pulled him out… 

Hamish kissed him, hard, like he didn’t want to stop. 

Someone knows how to sever hides from their Champions. 

Hamish is teasing him mercilessly, he’s got to know, why else would he be doing all of this?

If they don’t find anything on the list, they’ve got nothing.

He almost _died._

He’s in love with Hamish and Hamish knows, he _has_ to know, and he’s either goading him into making a move or using it against him. But Hamish isn’t like that, Hamish isn’t cruel. 

He can’t do this...

He has something like four pages of names to go through. Four pages of idiots and accidents and murders and werewolves. He doesn’t feel sorry for any of them, what does that say about him?

If the Knights had an out, would they take it? Would Hamish? 

They don’t have to be monsters. They’re _not_ monsters, they’re the fucking Knights of St. Christopher.

He’s in love and he gave Hamish all the cards and he’s out of moves. 

He can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t. Do. This.

He punches the wall hard enough to bust open the skin of his knuckles, water and blood running over the back of his hand and down his fingers, dripping onto the tiled floor in vaguely red splatters before swirling around and around and disappearing down the drain. 

That was probably loud enough for Hamish to hear from the other room. He’ll walk in, because they’ve never had boundaries, and he’ll see Randall’s hand is bleeding, and he’ll pull him out of the shower and press a towel to his knuckles, and he’ll want to talk, which is fucking rich considering Hamish can’t spend more than two minutes talking about _his_ feelings. 

He shuts off the water and presses his forehead to the tile. 

The door swings open - told you so - and he shivers against the rush of cool air. 

  
“Hey, I heard - Randall, what happened to your hand?”

Randall cracks the shower door enough to grab his towel off the hook, wraps it around his waist, and steps out. “I punched the wall.”

“Oh.” Hamish pulls a clean towel from the alcove and turns on the faucet to wet it. “Did the wall do something, or…?”

Hamish should never try to be funny. 

“Just stressed out,” he mumbles, watching as Hamish takes his hand and presses the washcloth into his skin. He hisses at the sting but he manages to not jerk away. 

“I might have something that will cheer you up.”

Here they go…

  
“I found something on your list.”

  
Randall’s head snaps up. “What?”

Hamish gives him a grim smile. “Two Medicums and a Magistratus went missing in April of 2012. What was left of their bodies was found in the woods two weeks later, presumed to have been preyed upon by scavenging animals, but in reality, that was all I left.”

“You’re sure?” 

He nods. “The Magistratus was Ryan Travenner, and we have an Acolyte named Jenny Travenner.”

“Siblings?”

“Yepp,” he confirms. “And legacies. Guess what their mother does for a living?”

“Gluten-free bakery?”

“That’s … no, but why…? Never mind. She’s taking over Hemming’s job.” He carefully peels away the towel and tosses it into the sink. “They worked together before her son got killed. Then she moved away for a while and came back after Hemmings died.”

“Of course she did,” Randall scoffs. “And you’re sure you killed this guy?”

“I haven’t looked him up yet,” he admits, “but the date and circumstances sound right.”

Randall grabs his phone off the bathroom counter and - ow, yeah, knuckles are still busted, good to know - types in the guy’s name. The first time he types it too fast and then his phone keeps trying to autocorrect, and finally Hamish snatches the phone out of his hand and does it himself. Of course it works for him on the first try. Even his phone likes Hamish. 

They find the obituary halfway down the first page of results and click it, which brings up a memorial page with a photo of a stocky guy with a buzzcut in a letterman jacket. Randall turns to Hamish, about to ask if he recognizes him, but the dark, murderous look on Hamish’s face and the way his hand starts to shake says it all. 

There’s no protocol for what to do when the person you’re in love with is staring down at the face of someone he viciously tore to pieces - and probably ate, if Randall’s reading the room correctly. No judgment, it’s a werewolf thing, he gets it - but he figures a hug is acceptable. He sure as hell could use one.

He wraps one arm around Hamish’s shoulders, carefully moving his injured hand, and snakes the other around his waist, pulling him in close. Hamish goes easily, hooking his chin over Randall’s shoulder and hugging back just as hard. 

“We’re OK,” Randall murmurs. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to Jenny and see what she knows, and then we’ll handle Hemmings 2.0, and this will all be over.”

“Yeah,” Hamish breathes. “We’ll be fine.”

So why does it feel like they’re still standing on the ice?


	5. In which a deal is made, feelings happen, and Randall finally gets some ... almost!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I was this many years old when I figured out "Serena" is actually "Selena" (dashes out of the room to sneakily edit previous chapters and runs back and sits down like nothing happened). ANYWAY...
> 
> I labored over this one forever. I wanted to make Randall suffer, then I had a rough weekend and I didn't want anyone to suffer at all (except maybe certain political figures who are dismantling the USPS and, in general, a bad dude BUT we won't go there). Then I thought it was moving too fast, then it was too slow, and then I rewrote it three times and this is where we are now. I'm still not 100% satisfied but sometimes I think we need to just ... throw things into the world even when we're not sure they're ready and hope for the best. 
> 
> We also have some light smut, so if you want to avoid that, stop reading when Hamish says "Deal" and pick it back up at "The knock on the window..." 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well and watching/reading/creating wonderful things! Hug your loved ones if you can and be good to each other. :D

It should have been a good thing. 

They have a name - Dr. Olivia Travenner, Head of the Applied Sciences department and Councilor of the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. They have addresses - home, office, Jenny’s dorm -, motive, means. There’s a solid chance they’ll have this whole thing wrapped up by the weekend. Hamish will be safe. No more poison. No more threats. Everything will go back to normal. Or, as normal as it ever was.

Under any other circumstance, Randall knows he and Hamish would be elbow deep in planning. Both of their laptops would be fired up and there would be papers everywhere, even on the floor. Hamish would be pacing, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair a mess from raking his hands through it while he thinks. Randall would be sitting on the couch, chewing his lip and throwing out battle plans. They’d have the entire pan of chicken and vegetables Hamish threw together for dinner sitting on the coffee table and they’d just steal bites as they flit around the room, cross checking the list or looking something up online or double checking an article. 

This time? It just takes the wind right out of their sails. Between Randall’s little breakdown in the shower and Hamish’s past coming back to haunt him, neither of them have it in them to count this as a win.

Randall gets dressed and comes out of his room to find Hamish wrapping a handful of ice in a towel. He glances up at Randall and jerks his head for him to come into the kitchen. 

He nearly doesn’t. He still feels raw and overexposed, like one wrong move will send him crashing through the ice, but he knows Hamish feels it, too, now, or some version of it. 

Once he’s close enough, Hamish reaches for his hand and carefully covers the bruised knuckles with his own. “ _Sanetur_.”

Randall winces at the grind of bone shifting back into place.

“Sorry,” Hamish murmurs, gently arranging the ice over Randall’s hand. “That should help.”

“It would have healed on its own.”

“Doesn’t mean it has to hurt in the meantime.” He withdraws his hand - Randall wishes he hadn’t - and turns back to the stove and clicks off the burner. “Are you hungry or should we just head to the Den?”

“Den,” Randall answers. “Can you text them that we’re coming over?”

Hamish nods, typing out a note on his phone. It must be to the group chat because Randall’s phone lights up immediately: _We’ve got something. Be there in twenty._

“Thanks, Hamselot.”

“No,” Hamish says tiredly, swiping his keys off the counter and leading the way to the elevator. 

And because there is apparently nothing about this day that’s going to go Randall’s way, said elevator stops at every. Single. Floor. which forces Hamish into the corner and Randall right up against him, his back to Hamish’s front, when they still have four levels to go. 

He tilts his head back until he hits Hamish’s shoulder and whispers, “We should’ve taken the stairs.”

He makes a face and nods. “Your hair smells nice, though.”

Randall tries not to light up at that.

They finally make it to the main floor and out to the garage without incident. The sun is starting to go down and it’s just the stage where it’s big and bright enough that the visor doesn’t do shit to block it out. Hamish digs around the console for sunglasses, which Randall has never seen him wear and doesn’t believe exist, so he pulls his out of his pocket and hands them over.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sliding them on. 

Of course they look good on him. Fucking traitors. 

He wants to ask Hamish about what he’d do if the poison wasn’t poison, if it was just a potion to de-werewolf someone, or what he thinks Jack or Gabrielle or Lilith would do, but he’s not sure he wants to hear the answers. And it’s not something he should be focusing on right now, but the loop in his brain continues - they’ll leave when they have a choice, he doesn’t love you, you can’t handle this, you’re going to get him killed - over and over.

To try to distract himself, he looks up Travenner again on his phone. Most of her legitimate research would be impressive if he didn’t know it was a front for some truly messed up biomagical experiments. Granted he has to keep rereading the same synopses over and over because his brain keeps spiraling out to all the bigger things at play here, but he gets enough of the gist to know it’s solid research.

His initial plan is for them to go straight from the Den to Travenner’s house first thing in the morning. The house is close enough to campus that they’ll look like they’re waiting for the bus or running or something, they’ve got time to figure that out. Since Jack blew up Hemmings’s lab - he never thought he’d consider it a bad thing, but See Also: everything about his life lately - and no one knows what happened to Coventry’s files, her house or her office is their best bet for a paper trail. 

Actually, “Hey, do you know what happened to Coventry’s files?”

“Someone destroyed them,” Hamish replies. “Or Kepler took all of it before she went off the grid.”

Yeah, Kepler’s off the grid, alright. Way, way, _way_ off. But they cleared out her place months ago. Anything they took would be in the Reliquary or Vera’s office. 

“Maybe we should check the stuff we pulled from her house, too,” Randall muses. “We had bigger things to worry about, maybe we overlooked something.”

“Can’t hurt,” Hamish agrees easily. 

“Then we just have to talk to Jenny, scope out Travenner’s place, finish going through the lists, find the book, and destroy the werewolf hunter.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Randall considers chucking the wet cloth from the ice at him but decides to be mature about it since he's driving and just ignores him in favor scrolling through images of the house from an old Zillow listing. “The house doesn’t look too big. I think we’d be able to clear it in a few hours, max.”

“Let the others do it,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “You and I can go through Kepler’s stuff.”

“No,” Randall says firmly. “Greybeard reacts the strongest to the poison, he’ll sense it way before the others.”

“Right, that worked really well earlier…”

Seriously? They’re back to this? He clears his throat and quotes in his best ‘Hamish” tone, “‘I thought he was acting out about something else.’”

“Cute, Randall. You almost died today and you’d rather -”

“I would rather,” Randall interrupts over whatever else he is about to say, “we settle this so we don’t have to have the same fucking argument again in another six hours. Look, today was obviously a shitshow, but how was I supposed to know about the poison? It’s not like Greybeard types out little memos when I’m sleeping and stacks them on the desk for me to read in the morning.”

“This isn’t your call. I run this pack and I-”

“No, Hamish, _we_ run this pack. _We_ have been running this pack for months, you don’t get to pull rank on me anymore.” 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do any of this in the first place.” 

“We’re the Knights of St. Fucking Christopher! This is the definition of what we do. We ‘swore an oath,’ remember?”

Hamish snorts out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. Yeah, it’s not fun being on the receiving end of that bullshit, is it?

“It’s our job to do dangerous shit. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, either, but that’s why I _have_ to go,” he insists, close to pleading. “You can call the shots, I’ll-”

“I don’t have a problem with you taking the lead.” They pull up to the Den and he throws the car in park. “My problem is that you’re so willing to put everyone else’s safety before your own.” 

So it’s OK for him to chase down rogue Practitioners and stolen artifacts, it was OK for him to go to literal hell and go up against an emperor demon and stop the apocalypse, it was OK for him to do a million other things that could have killed him, but this is where Hamish is going to pull rank and draw the line? He doesn’t even have the right to pull rank on him anymore, Randall’s been doing _everything_ for the Knights since he fucked off with the Order.

Hamish starts to get out of the car but Randall twists to grab his arm. “The longer we sit on this, the more time Travenner has to mess with the poison and plan her next attack. Do you _want_ to get severed or killed?”

“No,” Hamish snaps. “Do you?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe?” Randall fires back before he can stop himself. “Yeah, Hamish, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Hamish yanks his arm out of Randall’s grip. “And where the hell would that leave me?”

That’s .. did he … but it sounds like …

Randall replays the past forty-eight hours in his head - Hamish kissed him in the cafe, Hamish kissed him in the Temple, Hamish started this entire charade, Hamish held his hand, Hamish was _into_ the kissing - and it hits him how fucking stupid he’s been. 

Before Hamish can get out of the car, Randall dives across the console and pulls him back, and there are million things he wants to say - “I love you,” “I’m sorry,” “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” “Please just let me do this for you” - but he can’t figure out what should come first so he reaches out and curls his hand Hamish’s jaw and kisses him and hopes it’s enough to say all of it. 

  
Hamish kisses him back, hard and deep and fast. There’s a desperate, frustrated edge to it, like he wants more and for any number of reasons he doesn’t think he can have it. 

Randall pulls away and whispers into the space between them, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we’re time bombs, with or without the Order, and I’ve already lost someone I loved once and I don’t want it to happen again.” Hamish takes a deep breath and lets it in a long, loud exhale. “And I can’t stand the thought of putting you through that.”

“You think this is better?” Randall sighs, shaking his head. “I thought you were using me.”

“Honestly? I thought the same thing about you when you jumped on the fake dating thing so fast.” He flashes a rueful grin. “There’s also the whole matter of me being in a position of power over you. Please don’t make a sex joke.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Randall mumbles, a little disappointed in himself that he really wasn’t. “And I get what you’re saying, but hear me out - anything I do with the Order, I do because I’m a Knight. I’m like … a contract anesthesiologist, and you’re the surgeon. We’re in the OR together, but we don’t work for the same people.”

Hamish groans. “That is … not how that works at all. Randall, we _joined_ the Order. The Knights work for the Order.”

“Whatever, it’s still a dumb reason not to be with me, and you know it.” Randall sighs and slumps back into the passenger seat. “I’m sorry, too, by the way. I thought you were just … playing the game, or whatever. I was trying to keep up, but if I knew any of this, Hamish, I swear, I would’ve told you.”

Hamish reaches over to gently trace over Randall’s now-healed knuckles, light as a feather but still enough skin to skin contact to make his stomach swoop. (Was he this hopeless in all of his relationships or does Hamish just bring it out in him?) 

  
“I thought no one would get hurt this way.” His voice is as soft and just as gentle as his fingers as they ghost over the back of Randall’s hand. “But I guess I blew that one.”

“We both did,” Randall agrees quietly, lacing his fingers between Hamish’s in case he takes it as a rejection and tries to pull away. “I won’t do missions anymore.”

“You love going on missions,” Hamish points out. 

“... I do,” he admits. Honestly, the look of terror on the baddies’ faces when they see Greybeard? Never gets old. “And I’m so good at it.”

Hamish laughs quietly, shaking his head. “So, we have established that we’re both idiots, I have post-traumatic commitment issues, you are an adrenaline junkie with a hero complex, and … I love you.”

Randall’s heart simultaneously swells and breaks at how heavy the words sound falling off of Hamish’s lips, like he really doesn’t think they can have this. Or he can have this, or that he deserves it. He says it like it’s hopeless. He says it like a confession, hoping for relief but waiting for the consequences. 

How long has he been carrying this?

Randall leans over the console separating them and bumps his forehead against Hamish’s. He traces the edge of his lower lip with his thumb - it gets him a smile - and he wants to kiss him so bad but he has to get this next part out. 

“I love you, too.” Crack. There goes the ice. “You and me, however long we get. I don’t care how long it is, I just want you. Deal?”

This is it. It’s either go back to solid ground - were they ever there at all? - or jump to where the ice is thickest and keep going and hope for the best. It all depends on whatever’s going to come out of Hamish’s -

“Deal.”

Before Randall can even process the words enough to so much as grin, Hamish closes the gap between them. If what he felt all the times they’ve kissed before were sparks, this is lightning. This is like wildfire spreading from somewhere deep in Randall’s core and his brain is screaming _finallyyesnownownow_ , which is a really great idea and Randall’s driven - well, stolen when his own was out of gas - Hamish’s car enough that he can find the lever to push the seat back without breaking the kiss. He guesses from the way Hamish smiles against his lips that he sees where Randall is going with this, but what confirms it is Hamish untangling their hands to recline the seat enough that Randall might be able to climb over the console without hitting his head on the roof of the car. 

It’s not the first time Randall’s made out with someone in a car, but it’s been a while since he was the one doing the crawling across seats, so it’s not graceful at all but he manages to straddle Hamish’s lap without giving himself a concussion, knocking the car into reverse or drive, or hitting the horn.

Hamish grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him into another kiss before tilting his head to murmur into Randall’s ear, “I knew you’d want to be on top all the time.”

“Yeah?” Randall laughs - not at all shaky, not at all out of breath, except that he totally _can_ be now because they’re in love and Hamish is his boyfriend now… right? Do they need to clarify that? Whatever, later - and nudges his head back so he can mouth at his neck. “I should have known you’d still be a tease.”

He sucks a bruise onto his throat which gets him sharp inhale and “ _Fuck,_ Randall,” and fingers tangling almost painfully in his hair to guide him back to Hamish’s lips, and they’re back to kissing with bruising intensity. 

Then the hand that’s not holding his head in place snakes from his hip to his ass, pulling them tighter together. He gasps out a curse of his own when he feels Hamish’s cock against his, and then Hamish rolls his hips and everything whites out for a second. 

Randall has to pull back to breathe. “You need a bigger car.”

“I have a Range Rover back at the apartment.” He slides his hand under Randall’s shirt - yeah, OK, now he’s gasping, cool - and traces along the muscles there. “But I’m not fucking you for the first time in a car.”

“Such a fucking tease…”

Hamish huffs a laugh and presses kiss to the side of his head. “You make it so easy, baby.”

Randall’s pretty sure the appropriate term for what this is is ‘torture,’ but, whatever. He could be wrong. The pet name’s turned his brain to mush for a few seconds, so he’s not even sure he heard him right at this point.

He lifts his head, hovering just out of kissing range. “I like when you call me that.”

Hamish smiles. “I know.” 

The knock on the window jolts them both, but it also sends the blood that was just rushing straight to his dick back up to his brain and realizes they’ve been parked out here for a while and while the degree to which he’s never going to live this down varies depending on who’s outside, he is still _never_ going to live this down. 

Randall rolls his eyes, dropping his head onto Hamish’s shoulder. “Should I even bother moving?”

Hamish groans out a “Nope,” and rolls down the window. 

It’s Jack - grrrrreat -, standing with his arms folded across his chest and looking very much like he’s trying to keep his expression completely neutral. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Yeah, he’s looking way too smug to actually be sorry, “but I think we found something, too.”

“Yeah, cool,” Randall replies, leaning back so Hamish can at least sit up a bit more. “That is really great.”

Jack nods, still fighting a grin. “You guys want another minute, or…?”

Randall wants another three hours, pal, but that’s not going to happen. He swings his leg over and drops back into the passenger seat so Hamish can get out of the car and then he follows suit, not quite slamming the door behind him, but it’s close.

He walks around the front of the car and shoves Jack toward the house, “Right behind you, buddy!” and turns back to tell Hamish, “We’re gonna need new friends.”

“Where the hell would we find any?”

That is … a good point. 

Hamish slides his arm around Randall’s waist and pulls him close, warmth radiating off his body where they’re pressed together side by side, as they head inside. They separate at the door and even then Randall is hyper aware of the press of Hamish’s hand on the small of his back as he follows him into the house.

They find the whole gang scattered across the room. Lilith stares them down with a grin she usually reserves for killing, disembowelment, or ripping people to shreds. Gabrielle isn’t even pretending she wasn’t standing by the window trying to watch. She does look even more smug than Jack, which is saying something, as she daintily sips her drink and hums what sounds like “Partition.” 

“So,” Lilith says brightly, “you guys have some news for us?”

Randall clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, we think we know who’s trying to de-werewolf Hamish.”

“Great,” she says in the exact same tone. “Anything … else you want to tell us?”

He glances over his shoulder at Hamish. “Was there something else?”

Hamish pretends to think about it and shakes his head. “No, just that, I think.”

The actual song starts playing from Gabrielle’s phone. Yeah, Beyonce. Nice touch. 

“Guys, this is serious,” Randall says over the music. “Can we please just focus?”

“Sure, once I get over that massive love bite on Hamish’s neck,” Gabrielle replies excitedly.

What … Randall turns and, shit, he shouldn’t have looked because now he’s imagining what it would look like if Hamish was _covered_ in them. He shakes himself and assures Hamish, “It’s not that bad.”

“It’ll be gone in an hour anyway,” he says with a nonchalant shrug -the second it fades, Randall’s giving him another one in the exact. Same. Spot. - “So, we went through our part of the list and found one of the guys involved in Cassie’s death. His mom took over Hemmings’s job and his sister is an Acolyte.”

“Jenny Travenner, right?” Jack says. “She got re-assigned to Alyssa, and Alyssa said she’s got serious issues with her mom.”

“What kind of issues?” Randall asks, crossing the room to get a drink from the bar. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “Alyssa and Nicole are on their way over now, they’ll catch us up then.”

Randall finds one of those weird flavors of sparkling water and tosses it to Hamish before grabbing a beer for himself. “That might be good for us.”

“Especially,” Gabrielle begins, dropping onto the arm of the couch and reaching for her laptop, “since we know Jenny has the book.”

Randall nearly chokes, coughing as he sets the bottle aside and takes the laptop from her. It’s an Instagram post from Jenny - yepp, the blusher - and two girls he doesn’t recognize taking a selfie in a full length mirror before going to some concert if the caption is anything to go by, but on the floor, barely peeking out from under her bed is the book.

Randall checks the timestamp. The photo was taken last night. “You think it’s still there?”

Hamish leans over his shoulder to look, too. “Let’s wait for Alyssa and Nicole before we do anything.”

Now that he knows what to listen for, he catches the edge of worry in his voice and says with a shrug, “I want to finish my beer first, anyway.” 

He passes the laptop back to Gabrielle and says, more to Hamish than the rest of them, “We still need to figure out what we’re going to do about Travenner’s house.”

“What about it?” Jack asks. 

“Just logistics,” Hamish answers smoothly, but it’s there again. 

“We’ll get the book first,” Randall says. “Maybe we can use it as leverage or something.”

Hamish knows when he’s being humored, he’s too smart not to, but he just nods and slips past him to sit on the couch. He catches Randall’s hand and pulls him along, so maybe Randall isn’t as sneaky as he thinks he is, but if Hamish is willing to let him do his thing, he’s going to do whatever he can to take as much stress off of him as possible. 

At first, Randall considers just sitting next to Hamish for the sake of modesty or whatever, but then he decides, screw that, everyone knows they’re together now anyway and stretches out across the couch with his head in Hamish’s lap. 

“I’m really happy for you guys,” Jack says, “but I was actually sitting there.”

“And then you got up to interrupt us,” Randall reminds him, “therefore, this is my spot now.”

Hamish rolls his eyes - fondly, Randall thinks, but maybe it’s just the angle - and says, “Nothing else was going to happen.”

“Except more of what was already happening,” Randall adds with a grin. 

Gabrielle tilts her head and gives them a long, assessing look from the other end of the couch. “Is anyone else getting serious Elio/Oliver vibes?”

They definitely need new friends. 

The front door creaks open and clicks closed, followed by the telltale click of Alyssa’s shoes on the hardwood, only just audible over Nicole’s shout of, “We’re here!”

Alyssa’s face lights up with a grin the moment she turns the corner and sees Randall and Hamish on the couch. “That didn’t take long.”

“Nope,” Jack agrees. “What did I say, a week?”

Randall glares over at them. “What the hell, you guys were betting on this?”

“Hey, you guys played beer pong to decide if I lived or died.”

“That was different,” Randall argues, “I was never going to let them kill you, I was just stalling.”

“What did you bet?” Hamish asks over his head, sounding way more amused than Randall feels, but - like Randall says - everything’s a chess match to Hamish. 

“No one’s technically won yet, so we can’t tell you,” Nicole says simply. “Congrats by the way.”

“Thanks,” Randall mumbles and turns to Lilith as she stands up to greet her girlfriend. “Seriously? After that shit you said to me the other night?”

She has the decency to look like she feels bad for a few seconds. And then she mumbles, “I got you an apology present.”

He glares harder. “That present wouldn’t have anything to do with what you’re betting on, would it?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Relax, Randall,” Gabrielle says loudly. “Take it as a supportive gesture. Not only are we rooting for you, but we’re also literally invested in your relationship.”

They _definitely_ need new friends. 

“Can we get back to business,” Randall asks, “or literally anything else?”

“Right,” Alyssa says, sinking into the chair across from them. “I spent the past three hours with Jenny. She’s not involved but her mom is definitely up to something.” 

“We have proof that she has the book,” Jack says. 

“No, she doesn’t,” Alyssa says matter of factly, reaching into her back and pulling said book out with a flourish. “I have it.”


	6. In which there is good news, bad news, and Randall finally gets some ... for real this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ... just a whole lot of smut, to be honest. If you want to skip it, just stop reading when the lads leave the Den.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe and healthy! Hug your loved ones if and while you can!

Randall sits up and grabs the book out of her hand. At first he thinks it’s a diary but then he realizes it’s more of a research log or field journal. It’s just diagrams and drawings. Nearly all of the writing and images have faded so much that he can only make out a few words that could be written in anything from Latin to Norwegian for all he knows. He turns the page and finds more drawings and barely legible notes scrawled into every available space on the page. 

“How did you get this?” Hamish asks, leaning over Randall’s shoulder as flips through the book. Jack, Lilith and Gabrielle gather around, too.

“I went to Jenny’s dorm to introduce myself as her new tutor and when she got up to go to the bathroom, I glamoured another book and swapped them out. Then I slipped some truth potion into her water bottle, and I dusted her before I left.”

“Nicely done,” Gabrielle says, not even trying to hide that she’s impressed. “What did she say about Mommy Dearest?”

“Well, she hates Hamish and thinks letting all of you into the Order was a huge mistake. And she carries that book around like it’s her bible.” 

Hamish takes the book and flips through the pages faster, probably trying to find something that looks like it references the poison, weaknesses, anything. “So how hasn’t she noticed the book is gone?”

“Oh she’s noticed,” Alyssa says with a grimace. “She’s been on a warpath for days and tore the entire house apart. Jenny was going to sneak it back in tomorrow morning.” 

“Why did she take it in the first place?” 

“Just your standard teenage rebellion and wanting to impress your friends with ancient magic.” 

Randall catches something and grabs Hamish’s hand to stop him. He goes back a few pages and finds what looks like formulas and equations written over … something so faded he can’t really make it out. It kind of looks like leaves, or some kind of plant, which could be poisonous to werewolves in theory, but it’s so faded, how could anyone tell?

“My calc book is more interesting than this,” he grumbles, nudging Hamish to keep looking.

“She thinks it was handed down from Merlin.” Everyone collectively rolls their eyes. “But there must be something in there. Why else would she want it back so bad?”

Hamish flips back to the beginning of the book to start over, but Lilith reaches over and takes it out of his hands. A claw extends from her fingernail and she drags it across the back of her other hand and hisses out, “ _ Secreta tua revelentur _ .” 

The book glows red in her hand and expands into a larger, heavier version of itself. Its cover is thick and dark, covered in symbols carved into the leather that Randall knows he’s seen somewhere before but can’t place. 

Lilith traces a hand over the cover, almost reverently, and looks up at them. “It’s demon magic.” 

Greybeard is suddenly very interested in the proceedings of Randall’s life - oh, hey buddy, glad you’re feeling better - and while he’s definitely not happy, he doesn’t go berserk right away. Randall, on the other hand, is up and over the back of the couch to put as much distance between himself and that book as possible.

“No fucking way,” he shouts, pointing at her in warning. “Do not open that, Lilith.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s just a book, Randall. A little book never hurt anyone.”

“How about the Vade Maecum?” he snaps. “Also, the spellbook in  _ Hocus Pocus _ , Tom Riddle’s diary, the Book of the Dead in  _ The Mummy _ , should I keep going? Oh, maybe should talk about what happened last time we messed with demons. Remember how well that worked out for us?”

“Yeah, I turned into one,” she snarls, dark eyes shifting into silver. “You got a problem with that all the sudden?”

She means it as a challenge, he thinks. They haven’t specifically addressed the new … aspects … of Lilith’s identity since she got back. She never brought it up and Randall didn’t want to push, but now he wonders if he should have tried to get her to talk about it more. 

“No,” he says firmly, willing his shoulders to relax but he really, really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to know what’s in that book anymore. They can just bury it or burn it - no book, no Hamish killing, that’s that, they all live happily ever after - but when has it ever been that simple? “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“Then come back over here and look at this with us.” Her eyes are back to brown but her expression is just as intense. “I promise not to conjure up any buddies and throw a raging demon kegger.”

He winces. “I love you, Lil, but too soon.”

She shrugs and settles into his now vacant spot next to Hamish. Nicole sinks onto the couch next to her, draping her arm across Lilith’s shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. “We’ve gotta work on your delivery.”

Randall grabs a chair and pulls it closer to Hamish’s end of the couch, mumbling, “Way too soon.” 

“Shut up,” Gabrielle hisses, “I wanna know what’s in the devil book!”

“It’s not - nevermind.”

Randall holds his breath as she opens the book, pages crinkling as she smooths them down and turns them, one by one. 

“So,” Jack says quietly, “what is it?”

“Potions book,” Lilith mumbles, eyes scanning the pages. “A very, very dark potions book.”

“Dark as in …?”

“This one involves boiling the still beating heart of a newborn to curse all of your enemies’ children to die young.” She glances up at him. “Dark enough for you?”

They’re definitely burning the book when they’re done. To distract himself from thinking too hard about what horrible ingredients went into the de-werewolfing poison, he murmurs to Alyssa, “Does Travenner know we’re onto her?”

  
She shakes her head. “Based on what Jenny’s told me, she thinks she’s untouchable and whatever she's doing is for the greater good.”

Of course she does. 

Hamish leans across him to ask, “Does she know I killed Ryan?”

“I don’t think so. Jenny thinks he died in the woods and his body turned up later like everyone else does. Are we sure this isn’t just a powergrab?”

“Not completely,” he admits, settling back onto the couch, “but why bother with the photo if it isn’t personal?”

“Found it!” Lilith’s head snaps up and swivels in Hamish’s direction. “Want the good news or the bad news first?

“Bad news,” he answers immediately. 

“We fucked up.”

“So what else is new...” Jack groans just as Gabrielle reaches for the book. “How? Why?”

“She’s modifying a potion to sever a person’s soul from their body,” Lilith says quickly. “See all the notes? She’s probably been working on this for months and only just now got close.”

“Close?” Randall echoes. “Today was  _ close _ ?”

“You’re both still werewolves and not dying, right?” she snipes back. “Here’s the problem: one of the ingredients is a palmful of blood from the intended victim’s lover. She probably thought you weren’t in love with anyone since you and Vera broke up, but now that you and Randall have been flaunting how hot you are for each other in everyone’s faces...”

Yikes. If Hamish didn’t want him to go raid Travenner’s place before knowing Randall’s blood was the secret ingredient to the poison, he’s almost certainly reconsidering Randall’s ‘hole up in the apartment forever’ plan now. He might be reconsidering everything now that he thinks he’s put Randall in danger...

He turns to Hamish and says, “I’m not breaking up with you,” at the same time Hamish says, “You’re not going to that house.”

He sees the moment the words register and Hamish realizes what he said. “Why the hell would we break up?”

“Because you’re a self-sacrificing idiot with no regard for his own happiness who thinks pushing people away is the same as protecting them?” Hamish rolls his eyes, even as his expression shifts from confused to something warmer. “Just… don’t do that, OK? I’ll keep you safe, and you’ll keep me safe, and this’ll all be over before we know it, and you can take me to dinner and do all the other dumb things you planned for us to pretend to do. Only it’ll be for real. I hope.”

He didn’t realize how scared he was that Hamish would try to back out until he says it out loud, and now he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all, like once he lights the spark, it’ll catch fire and destroy everything. They’re in love, that’s been established - very thoroughly if physical displays of affection are anything to go by - but it’s new and fragile and he wants to protect it as long as he can.

“Hey,” Hamish murmurs, curling a hand around Randall’s jaw - if he nuzzles into it, well… it’s been a weird day with lots of ups and downs and he’s allowed to be a little clingy, OK? Geez -, “It’ll be for real.”

The relief is immediate and intense. He sags forward until his forehead hits Hamish’s shoulder. “I won’t go to her house.”

“Good.” 

“But, you know, that’s a really bad measurement method. Like, everyone’s hands are different sizes, and you could contaminate the blood, plus it’s really hard to-”

“Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, once again, magic is really fucking dumb.” He lifts his head. “Sorry for being kind of dramatic.”

“You’re always kind of dramatic,” he says with a shrug. “I like it about you.”

“I’m not… ugh, fine, whatever.” He sits up and turns back to Lilith. “Alright, so I’m the key to Hamish’s demise, cool, what’s the good news?”

“Wait,” Nicole says, waving her hands, “are we not going to talk about how fucking sweet that was?”

“Later,” Lilith tells her. “Anyway, I actually have lots of good news: one, without Randall’s blood, the poison is never going to work on Hamish. Two, it takes forever to make this stuff. You have to brew it, strain it, dry it out, grind it up, add it back in, blah, blah, blah, and, three, it doesn’t make a lot of poison. If she’s already fiddling with the recipe and can’t get it to work, she’ll need to go back to square one. But she can’t make more-”

“Because we have the book,” Randall finishes for her, turning back to Hamish. “Next time ask for the good news first. I feel like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” Lilith points out, smiling. “A lovable idiot, but an idiot.”

“It’s good,” Hamish breaks in before Randall can argue - not that there’s much to say since he clearly just proved he is, as she says, a loveable idiot -, “but we need to be sure she used up all of the poison and that she never gets her hands on this book again.”

“Burn it,” Jack and Randall suggest at the same time. 

“You can’t,” Lilith says, taking the book from Gabrielle and setting it on the table. “Even if we all wolfed out and played tug of war with it, it would just grow back together.”

“Can we send it back to the demon realm?” Randall asks.

Lilith shrugs. “Maybe…?

“Let’s just go to the beach and dump it like the necklace from  _ Titanic _ ,” Gabrielle says loudly. “It’s not like we couldn’t all use a vacation.”

They might not have worked out in the romance department, but Randall’s pretty sure Gabrielle is his soulmate.

Jack points at Gabby. “I like it, but you and Hamish are the only ones here who could afford that.”

“Pssht,” Randall scoffs, “Hamish has a Range Rover and an apartment building. He could bankroll the entire thing.”

“I’ll pay half,” Gabrielle offers. “And to sweeten the deal, I’ll even pay for you and lover boy to stay in the honeymoon suite.”

Definitely soulmates. 

“Guys...” Hamish groans, shaking his head. 

“OK, OK,” Randall concedes, “vacation planning later. I say we give the book to Vera. She’ll know better than any of us what to do with it. Hamish and I can take it back to the apartment for tonight.”

Gabrielle gives him a skeptical look. “Why? So you can forget about it in the car because you’re too busy trying to get your boyfriend upstairs so you can -”

“Yeah, we get it, thanks,” he breaks in. “You guys hang on to the book. We’ll meet at the Temple in the morning and figure out the rest from there. Cool?”

“What about clearing Travenner’s place?” Jack asks. “We’ve gotta destroy everything.”

“Dude, you’re not wrong, but I felt like I was getting ripped to pieces when I inhaled that stuff and none of this explains why. It also doesn’t tell me it won’t happen to anyone else.” He claps him on the shoulder. “No one goes in until we’re completely sure it’s safe.”

“We could just kill her,” Lilith suggests hopefully. 

Hamish shakes his head. “For all we know, this is bigger than just her. Killing her without getting information won’t help us.”

  
“Plus I called dibs,” Randall says, looking around for his beer. He finds it on the bar and gets up to retrieve it. “When this is over, I’m going to rip her to pieces and leave her to rot in the woods, just like her piece of shit son.”

It would be obvious even to the untrained eye which of them are not werewolves because Alyssa and Nicole look horrified while the others only look mildly surprised since violence isn’t usually his thing, but Travenner fucked up when she decided to go after Hamish. And by extension him, but more so because of Hamish. 

“Wait,” Lilith snaps, “why is it OK when he wants to kill people, but when I do it, it’s ‘excessive’?”

“Smells like a sex thing,” Gabrielle mumbles, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, wait, I know what this is - Randall’s going all savage to demonstrate his ability to protect and support a pack to prove he’s a good mate, so basically the same thing he’s been doing all year, just way less subtle.”

“Gross…” 

“That’s not a thing," Randall cries. "We’re werewolves not … wolves-wolves! And you haven’t worn the hide long enough to possibly be able to smell that.”

“I’m sorry, did you not tell me to spend time getting to know Midnight? Was I  _ not _ supposed to meditate for hours on this stuff?” 

“I meant you should get him under control so you don’t kill anybody, not stay up all night having heart to heart chats with him!”

“Well, I did, so I can, and you do.” She sniffs indignantly and crosses her arms, throwing a smug glance towards Hamish. “It’s working, by the way. He’s totally into it.”

“Hey!” Alyssa yells. “No magic or werewolf stuff to influence the bet, we agreed!”

Randall can’t help glancing at Hamish, whose eyes  _ do  _ look a little glazed over. He catches him looking and shrugs, just the barest lift to his shoulders. 

Huh. Well that’s good to know. 

A grin pulls at Hamish’s lips, even as he rolls his eyes, and shrugs as he stands. He ducks to whisper into Randall’s ear, “I have a bit of a competency kink,” as he passes and then says to the group, “On that note, I think we’re done here.”

Damn right they are. Randall passes his beer to Jack. “You can have the rest of that.”

Lilith grins like a shark. “What’s your hurry, boys? Stay and hang out with us. You’ve got two perfectly good bedrooms upstairs.”

“Yeah, but all our stuff is at the apartment,” Randall hedges. “Plus he made dinner.”

Hamish nods along easily. “I did.” 

“And he’s safer there with the sigils.”

“Right. Both of us will be, now that she’s going to be after you, too.”

“Oh yeah, good one. I mean, good point.”

“And we both almost died today, so we could probably use the peace and quiet to decompress.”

Randall can’t keep a straight face at that one. He grabs Hamish’s arm and pulls him towards the door, yelling over his shoulder, “If you guys think of anything else, text us. Otherwise, don’t touch my stuff, don’t lose the book, and don’t break anything expensive!”

“Don’t break anything, period!”

All jokes aside, Randall knows what he is planning to do the moment they get back to the apartment, and he’s pretty sure Hamish is thinking the exact same thing, so somewhere between walking out the front door and getting into the car, his nerves go from zero to eighty. Not bad nerves, per se, but it’s been a while since he’s been with another guy - a  _ long _ while - and he’s been hot for Hamish for a while - also a  _ long _ while - and when you combine both of those things with a twenty minute drive in the same car where they’d been making out and grinding against each other like high schoolers not that long ago, you get one very antsy Randall. 

It’s easier when Hamish starts the car and asks, “What specifically do you think they’re betting on?”

“Sex. Definitely sex,” Randall replies. “Who tops, who really tops, who initiates, who comes first, all of it. Possibly it’s a bingo card of random relationship things, but probably mostly sex stuff. Not that they’re ever going to find out anyway, but more power to them, I guess.”

  
“Oh, they’ll find out.” Hamish glances at him. “Gabrielle will drop hints to annoy you until you snap and tell her exactly what she wants to know, Lilith will flat out ask you when you least expect it and draw her own conclusions based on your response which you’ll feel obligated to correct, Alyssa will lull you into a false sense of comradery over coffee or drinks or whatever, Jack won’t touch it because he wants the money but not the details, and Nicole will be the one who ‘accidentally’ walks in on us.”

Randall starts to argue, but only gets as far as, “Uh…” because that is probably exactly what is going to happen. “Wait, what are you going to be doing in all of this?”

“Watching and laughing.”

Randall rolls his eyes, grinning. “You think they’ll lose interest if we overshare?”

“We’re all too competitive to drop anything. I only want to know so we can ruin it for them.”

Of course he does. 

“We should have stayed.” He reaches over the console to curl his hand loosely around Hamish’s thigh. “We could have gotten really loud, kept ‘em up all night, that whole thing.” 

“Hmm.” Hamish takes Randall's hand in his and brings it to his lips - if he kisses Randall’s hand, he’s done, he’s just going to melt into a puddle on the passenger seat - and murmurs, “That’s not actually a bad idea.”

“You sound so surprised,” Randall gripes, “I’m actually really sma-”

He turns Randall’s hand over and presses a kiss to his palm, like he didn’t think anything of it. Like they did this all the time. They  _ should _ have been doing this the whole time. For all Randall knows, they could have been doing this since he joined the Knights in the first place, but it might be the single sweetest, most romantic gesture anyone has ever extended to him. 

Hamish smirks at him. “Did I break you?”

Yes. 

“No. I just really love you and I’m really glad we’re doing this.”

They turn into the garage and Hamish pulls into the first open spot they find, even though it’s two levels down from the skywalk and they could almost definitely find something closer to the door. Not that Randall’s complaining, he just wants to get out of this car and into the apartment as fast as possible so they can pick up where they left off earlier, in private and without interruption.

Hamish turns off the car and turns towards Randall. “So … here we are…”

“Yepp.” Randall nods. “Back at your place. Alone. Together. Just the two of us.” 

Hamish laughs under his breath. “Why are we being weird about this?”

It’s nice to know he’s not the only one who’s nervous. He reaches over to card his fingers through Hamish’s hair, the fine blonde strands slipping through his grip easily. “Because we probably thought about it a million times and now we finally get to do it and it’s a lot?”

“Sounds about right. Except I always pictured it at the Den. One of those nights when you’d wait up for me on the couch. I’d finally throw caution to the wind and kiss you and we’d tear each other’s clothes off right there, and then we’d have to be quiet and fast because anyone could walk in.” 

Randall’s face heats up as he imagines it. “I usually pretend they’re out or don’t exist.”

Hamish laughs softly as he trails a finger along his jaw and down his chest - tracing the blush, he realizes, - and goes on, “Sometimes I do that, too.”

“What,” he clears his throat - are they really doing this? Is  _ he _ really doing this? -, “what else do you think about?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Getting you in my bed and taking you apart slowly. Opening you up till you beg me to fuck you.” (He might start begging now.) “Watching you fall apart underneath me.”

That sounds good. Really good. Great idea. 

“Then there’s all the scenarios where you fuck me... ” He says it so casually, how is he not dying? Randall is dying. Hamish is literally killing him. “You want to hear about those or can I take you upstairs and try out that first one?”

Randall licks his lips and manages to croak out, “Upstairs is good.”

Hamish smirks and gets out of the car without another word. Randall rushes to follow, pausing briefly to adjust himself, and loops his arm through Hamish’s to pull him close and whisper, “You’re a fucking menace” right against his ear.

He shivers and whispers back, “I don’t know if I love or hate that you figured out about that so fast.”

“What? This?” He bites down on Hamish’s earlobe and he nearly stumbles into him. “Or that I know you’re a menace?”

Instead of responding, Hamish walks them faster towards the building.

They manage to hold it together in the lobby and on the elevator for the most part, stealing kisses that get increasingly heated the closer they get to the apartment. They pull apart long enough to unlock the door and get inside and fall back together the moment they step into Randall's room. 

Hamish peels off Randall’s shirt and sweatshirt in a single swoop, over his head and down his arms and who cares what happens to them after that because he plasters himself to Randall’s back and the next thing he feels is warm breath on his neck and then the hot, wet press of Hamish’s mouth as he sucks a bruise under his ear.  He tilts his head to give him better access, sighing as Hamish wraps an arm around his chest, holding him firmly in place while his other hand roams over his torso. Fingers stroke over the muscles lining his stomach, light as a feather, tracing a line from the dip in his throat down between his pecs and between his abs, the touch getting lighter and lighter the lower he goes until Randall’s not even sure Hamish is actually touching him or if he’s just ghosting his hand over his skin but he arches up into it, desperate and aching for more. 

“Is this the part where I start begging?” he asks breathlessly.

Hamish grins against his shoulder. “It can be.”

Such. A. Fucking. Tease. 

Randall turns and grabs the hem of his sweater and yanks it off. He’s seen Hamish way beyond shirtless a million times, but now he can run his hands across his chest and over his shoulders and down his torso, mapping out muscles that twitch and tense under his fingers. Not only can he touch, he can kiss and bite and lick all the way down Hamish’s body. 

He starts at his neck and nips along his collarbone before licking a long stripe down between his pecs. Hamish lets out a ragged groan, fingers curling into his hair - not pulling, not yet - and the sound goes straight to his dick, he  _ has _ to get him to make that noise again. He flicks Hamish’s nipple with his tongue which makes Hamish hiss through his teeth. It's good, but Randall can do better than that, so he tries biting down lightly and  _ that _ gets him something bordering on a growl as the fingers in his hair tighten their grip. 

He glances up to make sure it’s a good hurt and not a bad one. Hamish’s head is tipped back, eyes screwed shut. 

Yeah. It’s a good one. But  Randall’s painfully hard and as much as he wants to see if he could get Hamish off like this, he also wants to get fucked sometime in the near future so he moves on, sinking onto the bed and leaning forward to kiss his way down Hamish’s body - the gentle pressure on the back of his head tells him Hamish is deeply in favor of this change in plans - and biting into pale golden skin. He has to pull away to unbuckle Hamish’s belt and he considers pointing out that his mouth would already be on Hamish’s dick if he wasn’t so committed to a business casual dress code, but he’d rather just get his mouth on Hamish’s dick.

He unbuttons and unzips Hamish’s pants, tugging them down along with his boxers. He’s never seen Hamish erect before, and he lets himself appreciate the sight for a solid fifteen seconds before wrapping his lips around the head and sliding down as far as he can. Which is pretty far, surprisingly, given the size and how long it’s been since Randall’s done this. 

_ “Shit _ , Randall!”

He’d smirk if his mouth wasn’t full, but since he’s preoccupied, he just hums and hopes it conveys, “Yes, I  _ am _ good at this, thanks for noticing.” It makes Hamish cry out even louder and his hips snap forward, nearly gagging Randall in the process. 

The hand in his hair tugs. He pulls off and glances up. “Need something, baby?”

Hamish grunts and pushes him down on the bed. “And you say,” he grinds out, fingers curling around the waistband of Randall’s sweatpants, “I’m a tease.”

“It’s fun,” Randall says, grinning, and lifts his hips so Hamish can pull the rest of his clothes off. “I totally get why you do this to me now.”

Hamish laughs under his breath and bends over to press a long, lingering kiss to Randall’s stomach. His breath hitches, even though Hamish is moving decidedly north instead of south, crawling over his body until their lips meet in a soft, barely there kiss. He lowers himself between Randall’s legs gently but the press of their bodies still makes him shiver. 

Hamish asks in a gratifyingly shaky voice, “Where’s your stuff?”

Randall jerks his head toward the side of the bed. “In the bag. Inside pocket.”

He reaches down - he has to  _ know _ the movement will drag his body up against Randall’s, that’s probably why he didn’t ask about it until now, smug bastard - and Randall sighs, high and needy but he’s way too turned on to be embarrassed by it. 

“Hamish. Baby. Love of my life. Please hurry up and get your fingers in me and then get your dick in me as soon as possible.”

Hamish nips at his bottom lip, tossing a condom and the bottle of lube. “... you can do better than that, but I’m sure we’ll get there sooner than later.”

Randall starts to argue but then a slick finger slides into him and all coherent thoughts just … poof. Gone. Vanish. The universe shrinks down to the pressure and burn and the drag as Hamish pushes deeper into him, curling his finger in a move that makes his jaw drop and hips buck up into the touch. He does it a few more times and adds another finger and then another, alternating between twisting his hand to stroke lightly over his prostate and rubbing hard against it in a torturous rhythm till Randall finally gives in and begs for real, “Hamish, please...”

“You sure?” 

“Mhmm.” Their faces are so close that the tip of his nose bumps Hamish’s as he nods. He remembers doing it more purposefully the first time they kissed and does it again now, tilting his head up to kiss Hamish’s cheek and murmur against his skin,“C’mon, I want you.”

Hamish’s fingers slide out and Randall catches something predatory and possessive flash across his eyes as he swipes the condom off the nightstand. He sits up to tear the packet open and roll the condom down onto his dick. Randall snatches the lube, squirts some into his hand, and runs it over Hamish’s length. He hisses and rocks into it slightly before he grabs Randall’s wrist and pins it against the pillow - wow, that’s a thing Randall didn’t know he was into, sweet fucking Jesus -, as lays back down over him. 

He knows it’s going to happen but Randall still jumps when he feels the tip press against him, and Hamish says softly, “I’ll go slow, OK?”

The anticipation has him beyond words so he just nods again. Hamish ducks down to kiss him and then he presses in, slowly as promised, but he feels a lot bigger than three fingers and Randall thinks he’s going to scream but the sound catches in his throat. He tangles his fingers around the hand holding down and squeezes, hard. 

Hamish goes completely still over him except to nuzzle along his temple and trails his lips across his forehead, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. It’s so fucking sweet that Randall whimpers against his lips when they finally meet, eager to focus on kissing and the feeling of Hamish’s hand stroking up and down his body while he adjusts. Eventually he gets brave enough to give an experimental cant of his hips. Still a lot, but better. He does it again and yeah, OK, this is better. 

Hamish seems to sense all of this and takes over for him, slowly rocking in and out of him and watching Randall’s face carefully for signs that it’s too much, but it’s good.  _ So  _ good. A lot in all the best ways.

“Harder,” Randall pants. “I’m good, come on, move.”

Hamish huffs out a breath that sounds something like “Bossy” and sits up to grab Randall’s thighs, coaxing him into wrapping his legs around his waist. It instantly pulls him in deeper. He starts moving again, hips rolling into him deep and slow, every drag of his cock lighting him up and sending sparks of white hot pleasure up his spine. 

Then he snakes a hand down between them and wraps his hand around Randall’s dick and, “Ah,  _ fuck _ !”

His body moves of its own accord, caught between chasing release and shrinking away from the overload of sensations. His legs tighten around Hamish, heels digging into the back of his thighs to force him even deeper, and he grinds back against his thrusts only to rock back up into his fist. He kisses Hamish over and over and over as he drives into him faster and harder, hips snapping with enough force to knock the headboard loudly against the wall and send Randall sliding up the bed, digging his nails into the sweat slick skin of his back. What has to be his last remaining brain cell gives him the dea that if he lets his claws out, Hamish’s back will be ripped to shreds and some of the scratches might still be there tomorrow. Hamish could still be feeling him for  _ days _ . So he does, just a little, just enough to feel blood well up under his fingers, and Hamish must be into that because he growls and ducks down to sink his teeth into Randall’s chest - sharp enough to pierce his skin, he must have let a little bit of Tundra out, too, he realizes wildly - and the last string holding him together snaps and he comes, clenching around Hamish as he fucks him through it, rhythm dissolving into a slow grind deep inside of him as his own orgasm hits.

He collapses against the bed, chest heaving, a s Hamish goes still, face tucked into the curve of his shoulder. Neither of them move right away, not that Randall could if he wanted. He’s too boneless and and fucked out to do much more than lay there, which is totally fine by him. He could lay there forever, holding Hamish in his arms while they both come back down to earth. If they come back down to earth. For all he knows he died. Hamish finally did him in. RIP Randall Carpio, death by Hamish Duke’s dick. 

He manages to muster up enough energy to glance down to admire the jagged red lines crosshatched down Hamish’s back and carefully trace around them. Hamish shudders, which is a startlingly unpleasant way for Randall to remember how overstimulated and sensitive you feel once the fun part is over. 

It’s even more unpleasant when Hamish pulls out and gets rid of the condom, but then he stretches out next to him and lifts his arm in invitation, which Randall gladly accepts. The both wriggle in closer until they’re almost nose to nose, Hamish’s arm draped over Randall’s waist and fingers tracing shapes up and down his back. 

Randall sighs and lets his eyes slip closed. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Lips brush against his forehead. “I didn’t say it earlier, but I’m really glad we’re doing this, too.”

“Should I read into the fact that you didn’t say that until after you fucked me, or…?”

“Definitely.” A surprised laugh bursts out of Randall. “The level of my commitment to this entire thing is dependent on how good you are in bed.”

“Oh my God…” Randall groans, grin still tugging at his lips as he scrubs a hand over his face. “How am I doing so far?”

“Great.” Hamish gives him a soft, fond look and leans in to give him a quick kiss. “Really,” and another, “really great,” and another, and another...


	7. In which there is fluff and there are big, big problems...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens ... a little ...

The alarms on Randall’s and Hamish’s phones go off way too early.

Or, technically, the alarms go off right on time. It’s just that the two of them stayed up way too late, even though they knew they not only had to get to the Temple by eight sharp but they also had to be on high alert for the rest of the day while also pretending they have no idea someone wants to attack them, and while Randall doesn’t regret a single second of the night before, he does strongly consider texting the group to go ahead without them. 

Randall fumbles around and rolls onto his back to paw in the general direction of the noise until his fingers land on one of the phones. He’s either shut the alarm off or managed to hit the ‘snooze’ button - he does that often enough that he could probably do it without looking - but when he tries for the other one, he accidentally knocks it down between the headboard and the mattress, where it continues to buzz. 

Hamish groans loudly next to him and digs down and snatches the phone out, silences it, and tosses it onto the floor. It must be Randall’s phone, then. He’ll have to remember to gripe at him for throwing it around later, but for now he just rolls onto his side to curl around Hamish.

“Ten more minutes,” he mumbles against his shoulder. 

The response is a sleepy, sighed out, “Mmk,” and a hand reaching back to grab Randall’s arm and pull it over him. Randall shifts closer till he’s draped himself over Hamish like a blanket, cheek pressed against the sleep-warm skin of his chest. 

They stayed in bed for a while last night before finally dragging themselves to the shower. With the urgency and tension finally sated, they took their time mapping out freckles and scars and finding all the different places that will make the other sigh and moan and laugh - Randall’s ribs are really ticklish, which is not a fact he’d planned on sharing with Hamish because he cannot be trusted with anything that can be used as a weakness, but here they are - while they cleaned up. 

If there is anything more beautiful than the sight of Hamish Duke, backlit by the warm glow of the final rays of sunlight streaking through the sky outside the window, or the way he smiled when Randall told him that he’s gorgeous, Randall doesn’t care to see it. 

Then they ate dinner on the balcony and stayed out there for a while, dividing their time between talking and kissing before migrating to the couch for more talking and more kissing and finally wound up in Hamish’s room for round two. And then it was more talking until Randall glanced over to find Hamish had fallen asleep at some point in his story about getting suspended for a week and grounded for three months for tossing condoms and those little packets of lube around his high school’s chapel like confetti. 

(They talked about everything.  _ Everything _ , starting with some of the stuff Hamish had been neglecting to share...

> “What did you originally think was going on with Tundra?”
> 
> “I thought he missed you guys. I’ve been spending so much time on Order Stuff(™) that I’ve barely been able to do anything else. He hates it. I kind of hate it, too, lately.”
> 
> “Hamish, you don’t have to do any of this.”
> 
> “Yes, I do. This is the best way to keep us safe  _ and _ keep an eye out for bad magic.”
> 
> “OK, but if you’re miserable -”
> 
> “Randall, I’ve messed up a lot over the years. I have to make things right.”
> 
> “We all messed up, babe, but” - this is when Randall learned he’s not the only one who’s a sucker for terms of endearment, which is so good to know - “you’ve gotta stop punishing yourself. Ask yourself if it’s really something you want. If it is, great, me and the Knights will support you. If it isn’t, we’ll figure that out, too.”
> 
> “I know, I just… I can’t take the chance that anyone other than Vera and I would honor the agreement.”

And they talked about magic:

> “Do you think you’d be Slytherin or Ravenclaw?”
> 
> “Probably Slytherin.”
> 
> “Yeah, but I feel like you could go either way.”
> 
> “I think pre-Tundra, I would have been more of a Ravenclaw. You’re definitely Gryffindor.”
> 
> “That’s kind of a no brainer. Jack would be a Gryffindor.”
> 
> “Yeah, or Hufflepuff.”
> 
> “Lilith is a closet Hufflepuff. She and Nicole, both of them. Honey badgers for life.”
> 
> “You think? I had Lilith down for Gryffindor.”
> 
> “Nah. Hufflepuff for sure. Alyssa would be Ravenclaw.”
> 
> “Yep. And Gabrielle would be Slytherin.”

And Randall finally worked up the nerve to bring up what’s been heavy on his mind…

> “What? And give up my superpowers?”
> 
> “Hamish, I mean it. If it was totally safe and it didn’t hurt Tundra, would you do it?”
> 
> “No. I said the oath. And I like being a werewolf, aside from everyone trying to kill me all the time. Why, would you?”
> 
> “Hell no, but what about the others? Do you think they’d …?”
> 
> “Well, I can’t speak for them, but it’s like Jack said - we’re family. I can’t imagine any of us would walk away from that easily.”
> 
> “What if they say yes, though? What if we can finally give them an out and they want to take it?”
> 
> “Then … we’d handle it. Same as everything else. Hey, right now it isn’t even an option. We don’t need to start looking for more problems.” 

And they talked about past relationships:

> “We used to hook up in the locker room after everyone left from hockey practice, and the last time someone came back and he literally pushed me away so hard I got a concussion. I missed the rest of the season because of that asshole.”
> 
> “What’s this guy’s name?”
> 
> “Andy Mendoza. He’s going to school in Minnesota, I think. Every year he says he’s getting drafted, but honestly, he’s not that - oh my God, do not look him up.”
> 
> “I just want to see where he lives so I can go kill him. Was his nose shaped like that when you were with him?”
> 
> “No, and he had all of his teeth.”
> 
> “Wow…”
> 
> “Yeah. Definitely dodged a bullet on that one. What about you, who’s the biggest creep you ever dated?”
> 
> “Honestly, I’ve never really dated much. I did hook up with at least two waiters at every single party my parents ever threw, and I was way too young to be doing it so by default, most of those were creepy.”
> 
> “...and yet, you think stealing a book is a weird way for a teeanger to act out. Wait, so was your first time in a linen closet out of spite for your parents?”
> 
> “No, it was in an empty hotel room on Christmas Eve.”
> 
> “Shit, that’s romantic.”
> 
> “Surprisingly. It was the guy who bartended all of the parties. We were sort of like friends with benefits, but more like acquaintances with benefits.”
> 
> “Hamish, I don’t know if that’s awesome or depressing.”
> 
> “It was awesome. Trust me.”
> 
> “... hey, what’s his name?”
> 
> “There was a girl I met on vacation in Switzerland before him. You want her name, too?”
> 
> “Do you remember it?”
> 
> “Genevieve… something French… she had a nose ring.”
> 
> “Great. That’s so helpful.”

They even found time to talk about their friends…

> “I cannot believe you picked him to be a Knight-”
> 
> “No, wait, that’s not-”
> 
> “-because you thought his hair was cool!”
> 
> “-the only reason! Dude, he knew about the Order and wanted to take them down, of course I thought he’d be a good Knight. And, yes, I did think, aesthetically, he would round out the group nicely.”
> 
> “I can’t believe I let you recruit new members. How did you pick Lilith?”
> 
> “I just found her and she was so sad and lost, I had to bring her back with me. Hey, they both turned out to be good at it! And you have to admit, Jack  _ does _ have great hair. I kind of miss the blonde, though.”
> 
> “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
> 
> “We should make a bet and make him dye it back.”
> 
> “See, that right there, that is why we work so well together…”)

He thinks Hamish has gone back to sleep until he mumbles, “Do I still have a mark on my neck?”

“Dunno,” Randall replies softly, “tilt your head back.”

Sure enough, there’s a decent sized purplish bruise at the base of his throat surrounded by a smattering of broken vessels. Randall smiles to himself. It’s like its own little inverted galaxy, a little smudge of a star in a constellation of tiny red dots. 

“Yeah,” he says, gently pressing his thumb over the bruise, “right here.”

“I can still feel those scratches on my back, too.”

  
“Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a smile.

It’s probably weird that they collect these little marks like momentos, but he wants everyone to know Hamish is his and that he’s with Hamish now. And there’s something thrilling and weirdly romantic in knowing they can completely let go with each other, that they can give and take so much more with each other than they can with other people.

Maybe Gabby’s right and they’re a little more animalistic than they’d like to think.

“How’s the one on your chest?”

Oh, yeah, good question. He props himself up on his elbow and glances down. He can’t get the full effect from this angle, but there is definitely a large, spectacularly red, vaguely human-looking bite mark at the top of his right pec. It might be visible if he wears a v-neck. Does he even own a v-neck? If this is going to be a thing, he should definitely get more v-necks. 

Hamish traces around the perfect imprint of his mouth. Well, technically it’s also Tundra’s mouth, but if Randall spends too much time on that, it gets weird. Then again, he let Greybeard out for a minute, too… nope, not going there. He’s just going to chalk it up to another weird werewolf thing - without ever telling Gabrielle that she might be onto something - and accept that it was hot and move on with his life. 

The longer he looks, though, the less enamored Hamish looks. He looks … concerned.

“It didn’t hurt,” Randall assures him. “I would have said something.”

“No, I know,” Hamish says, sitting up to look closer. “Randall, I don’t think it’s healed at all.”

That .. is concerning. The facial expression makes sense now. But he didn’t exactly take a picture of it last night, so he wouldn’t know for sure. He saw Hamish’s back, though.

“Turn around for a sec,” he says as he sits up, too.

Hamish twists and, holy shit, no wonder he can still feel the cuts - his back is totally raw. If Randall touched him, he’s sure he’d pull away with blood on his fingers. He glances back at the bed where Hamish was just laying and, yeah... there’s blood. All over the bed. 

They didn’t look this bad last night. He’s sure Hamish was already healing when they were in the shower and afterward. Even if they reopened the second time they had sex, they shouldn’t look like this. 

He lets Greybeard’s claw extend from his nail. “What’s the spell?”

“You don’t need that if I’m still bleeding.” Right. And he is. Because Randall… or, well Greybeard, but… and they can’t… “Try  _ reparetur _ .”

Randall gingerly, like even just the suggestion of touching will hurt him, hovers his hands over Hamish’s back and repeats the spell as clearly and confidently as he can. He doesn’t even flinch as the skin knits itself back together, but two blinks and the cuts are gone. Totally healed. 

But only for a few seconds. 

“You don’t happen to have a first-aid kit here do you?”

“No, I’ve never…” 

Yeah. Randall hasn’t either, not since joining the Knights.

He gets up - yeah, definitely not healing, definitely feeling like he got fucked twice last night - and heads toward the bathroom. “Did Lilith mention this would happen and I just missed it?”

“No, but how is this possible?” Hamish follows up, flinching as the movement pulls at his back. “You drank the cure-all, and I barely breathed any of it in.”

Randall’s not sure, but he’s more focused on figuring out what the hell to do about Hamish’s back. Without any decent medical supplies, all he can do is wet a towel and hope for the best.

He motions for Hamish to turn around and carefully dabs along the edges of the scratch marks. “I am  _ so _ sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He can’t see Hamish’s face but he can hear him smirking. 

“I meant that your back looks like someone ran over it with a lawn mower. How’s it feel?”

“Sore,” he admits. 

“Do you own any non-fitted clothes?”

“Just the clothes that I sleep in. Ah!”

  
“Sorry!” Randall says quickly. “That one’s deep. I might have a sweatshirt big enough that it won’t irritate these.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He hisses and Randall decides to, literally, throw in the towel. It’s not helping anyway. “Guess I’m canceling all of my classes today.” 

“I actually meant to talk to you about that, but this wasn’t part of my plan to convince you.”

Randall steals a look at their reflections in the mirror. They both look tired and fucked out, especially since they’re covered in love bites and scratch marks - nothing like Hamish’s back, but nails are nails - but otherwise not too bad.

Hamish winds his arms around Randall’s waist and bumps their foreheads together. “So. This is bad.”

“No shit?” Randall murmurs. He brings his hands up to frame Hamish’s face, too leery of putting his hands anywhere near his back or shoulders. “Can you feel Tundra?”

“Yeah. What about Greybeard?”

The werewolf in question stirs. “Yeah. Loud and clear.”

“OK, good. That’s … that’s good, then.”

He’s not sure if Hamish is trying to convince him or himself. “I’m going to run to the Target really quick and get some stuff for your back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Good. It’s your turn to buy laundry detergent anyway.”

Hamish laughs weakly. “Randall?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Me, too, babe.” He gives him a soft peck on the lips. “We'll figure it out, though. We always do."

Hamish takes deep breath and nods. “In and out of Target, though.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Randall…”

“OK, OK. But it’s still your turn on laundry detergent next time we go.”

Let the record show that Randall Carpio and Hamish Duke walked into Target, went straight to the medical supplies aisle to grab two of the most intense first aid kits he’d ever seen along with antibiotic cream, butterfly stitches, gauze pads, and anything else he thought might even be a little bit helpful. Then they went straight to the clothing section, grabbed two packs of undershirts, and went straight to the self-checkout. Not a single extra thing was purchased. Randall didn’t even look at the little shelf over the register. And they did the whole thing while maintaining some form of physical contact - holding hands, Hamish’s hand on the small of Randall’s back, Randall’s hand in Hamish’s back pocket, anything to stay in constant contact.

Even with their side trip, they beat everyone to the Temple and duck into Vera’s office - which feels like breaking into an ancient tomb and they’re about to trigger some kind of horrible trap, even though Hamish has unrestricted access - and get to work.

“I’m just going to clean the shallow ones and hopefully they’ll start closing on their own,” Randall decides, pulling on the latex gloves from the kit. “Do you think that stuff we used when you got stabbed would work on this?”

“Maybe.” He’s sitting backwards on a chair, chin resting on his arms where they’re folded over the top of it. 

They can always try it on Randall’s bite mark first. He doesn’t vocalize that thought, though, because he knows Hamish would insist that they try it on him first. 

“Want me to start on the worst one or work up to it?”

“Worst one,” he mumbles.

He feels Hamish flinch as he cleans around the cut, hopefully just because the saline he sprayed onto the gauze is cold, and then a little harder when he dries the skin so he can put on the bandages, but he barely moves otherwise until Randall presses a kiss to the back of his neck and says, “Done. You were a remarkably cooperative patient.”

Hamish smiles tiredly at him over his shoulder as he grabs a t-shirt out of the pack they just bought and pulls it on. It’s big on him, the v-neck dipping lower than anything either of them would wear under any other circumstances, but he still manages to look like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad. 

Randall gathers all the empty wrappers and the gloves and throws them into an empty bag to toss on their way out later. “What are we telling everyone?”

“The truth.” Hamish grabs the sweatshirt he borrowed from Randall and pulls it back on. “We need to transform after this. Make sure we still can.”

“Maybe it’ll help heal everything,” Randall muses. He’s having a hard time looking away from sight of Hamish in his sweatshirt. “You can keep that, if you want.”

“I was already planning on it. Plus I probably got blood on it.”

“Eh. It’s black. No one will know but us.”

“Oh my god, why does it smell like blood and anxiety and Band-Aids in here?”

Neither of them heard their little gang of weirdos walk in, which is not a good sign. Normally Randall would smell Alyssa’s perfume or Gabrielle’s shampoo or something the second they walked in the building. He steals a quick look at Hamish, who looks like he’s realized the same thing and is similarly troubled. 

Gabrielle is holding a cardboard tray of coffees in each hand - they would have smelled that, too, especially Hamish - and gives them a hard look as she stomps into the room to set the trays on the desk.

This is going to suck worse than he thought. He can’t watch. He buries his face into Hamish’s arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re not healing,” Hamish says. “We got a little… rough… last night and everything is the same if not worse.” 

Lilith drops into the chair next to them and narrows her eyes at them. “How rough, exactly?”

Hamish nudges Randall. “Your turn.”

“Dude, seriously?” he groans. “Fine. I clawed up his back pretty bad, and he bit the shit out of my chest.”

Gabrielle freezes, hand hovering over one of the cups in mid-air, and slowly turns her head to stare at Randall. “Did you guys wolf out during sex?”

“No,” they both shout at the same time and Hamish goes on, “OK, slightly, but not how you’re making it sound.”

If Randall dies right now, immediately, that would be OK. Hamish said he loved him. He got laid. His friends are terrible people but obviously they're fine. He can die in peace.

Alyssa’s eyes are huge. “Holy shitballs...”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack interjects, grabbing two of the coffees off the table and passing one to Hamish and then one to Randall, “save the kinkshaming for later-”

“Or never,” Hamish grumbles, to which Randall adds, “Seriously, so not cool.”

“- are you guys ok?”

“Mostly,” Randall says, “and thanks for the coffee. And actually being concerned.”

“How bad is it?” Lilith asks. 

Hamish shrugs and takes a long drink. “He got everything cleaned up and bandaged on my back for now.”

Lilith gives Randall an expectant look. “Well?”

Well. Everyone’s going to see eventually, he figures. Might as well get it over with. 

He takes off his jacket and gets his shirt halfway over his head when he hears her gasp.

Randall smooths a hand over his hair. “Honestly, it was pretty hot when it was happening.”

Hamish tips his cup towards him. “Same.”

“Randall, that looks really bad,” Lilith says, wincing.

It really does. It’s not bleeding, but it’s inflamed and aches with the pull of his muscles when he moves. He suspects if he touched it, the skin would be feverish, too, which is never a good sign. 

“Hand me that bag and the kit, would you?” he says to Hamish. 

Hamish passes it over but Lilith takes it before Randall can so much as reach for it and rifles through it. “What do you need out of here?”

“Ice pack.” He catches Hamish’s eye over her head and mouths, “She’s freaked out.”

Hamish nods and fishes the instant ice pack out of the other kit. He hands it over to Lilith. “Here.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles. She snaps the pack to activate it and hands it to Randall. “What about painkillers? They usually have those little two-packs in the kits.”

Randall’s so used to just recovering from things that he didn’t even consider actual medicine. He’s not sure they’d even work but Hamish beats him to the response, “We didn’t get that far.”

She rolls her eyes and says something like “Idiots” under her breath while she sifts through the kit and produces a packet of meds for each of them. 

Hamish takes his and gives her a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Lil.”

Randall swallows his dry, which gets him a disgusted look from Jack that he responds to with his favorite hand gesture before pressing the ice pack very, very gently to his chest.

“What about Greybeard and Tundra?” 

“They seem fine,” Randall says. 

No one looks terribly relieved at that. Jack shoves his hands into his pockets, which must mean something because Alyssa leans into him and loops her hand through his arm. Lilith’s eyes are fixated on the ice pack, like she’s willing it to make the wound disappear, while Nicole keeps digging through the kit for something else that could possibly help. Even Gabrielle pulls her jacket tighter around her and keeps blinking like she’s trying not to cry, but when Gabby’s upset, you wait for her to come to you. Calling her out on it will just make her rip you a new one.

He has to fix this: “Hey, was the coffee a bribe so we’d give you dirt for the bet?”

He really, truly, honestly did not plan on bringing up the bet, ever, as long as he lives, but Hamish was right when he said they were all competitive. They’re also nosey and way too into each other’s business and they desperately need the distraction. As weird as it is, it’s completely harmless compared to half the other shit they’ve gotten into. Or been dragged into. It wouldn’t kill him to play along, at least for a little while. 

Nicole, forever coming to his rescue, jumps on it immediately. “That depends - did it work?”

“Oh hell yeah.” He grins. “Who bought?”

Gabrielle’s hand shoots into the air. “Me!” 

Randall glances at Hamish who rolls his eyes and grumbles, “One question.”

“But I’m the one who said we should get coffee in the first place,” Alyssa argues. 

“Fine, one question each,” Randall concedes. “But nothing too invasive. I think you got enough TMI just now to last you for a while.”

The fact that they both have to pause to reconsider whatever question they had in mind is disturbing. He turns to Lilith. “You remembered the book, right?”

“Yep,” she answers, patting her bag protectively. “I translated it, too, right before I communed with the devil to ask for a hellhound puppy.”

“Dude. If you get a puppy, I don’t care where it comes from, I wanna play with it.”

“OK, OK,” Gabrielle waves her hands wildly. “My question is… more than once?”

Huh. Surprisingly not too bad. He throws Hamish a grin and says to Gabrielle, “Yes.”

“I seriously regret suggesting this bet, but good for you, man,” Jack says and then he throws his shirt at him. “Vera will kill you if she comes in here and you’re half naked.”

Pssht. Vera wishes she could see him shirtless. Wait. Vera has seen him way more than shirtless. Weird.

Alyssa hums thoughtfully. “I was going to ask if it was romantic and sweet or just tearing each other’s clothes off and doing it on the floor, but I think I already know the answer to that based on all … this.” 

Randall nearly argues that they did not do it on the floor, but he catches himself. 

“Oh, actually,” she says excitedly, “I should get two questions since I got the book in the first place. Or one invasive question.”

“Hey,” Lilith snaps, “I read the book and translated it!”

Hamish smacks Randall with the back of his hand. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“It’s better than everyone freaking out, right?” he whispers. 

“Sure. Still means I was right, though.”

He can’t really argue that one. “Alright, here’s how this is going to work - everyone gets one question,  _ but _ we can veto if we don’t want to answer.”

Jack plops into a chair. “You guys can give mine to someone else. I just threw ten bucks at Alyssa and said ‘go wild.’”

“No one gets Jack’s question,” Hamish says quickly and adds more quietly to Randall, “They’d just fight about that, too.” 

“Morton, do not ruin this for us!”

“Fine,” Jack says, “did Randall cry?”

“You know, Jack, crying after orgasm isn’t uncommon and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Also, no. And, also, fuck you and that toxic masculinity bullshit.”

“Oh I just meant in general, but good to know.”

Randall kicks his chair hard enough to nearly knock it over.

“What a waste of a question,” Gabrielle says with a roll of her eyes. 

They’re saved from further interrogation by the click of Vera’s heels as she marches into the room, gesturing at the Target bags and asking loudly, “What the hell is all of this?” 

In a move Randall never would have predicted, Gabrielle slips forward to deposit a coffee on the desk.

“Good morning, Grand Magus,” she says sweetly - oh God, what is she up to? -, “we got you a latte - triple shot, skim milk, extra hot, extra foamy, one pump of vanilla.”

Randall looks at Hamish, who looks as confused as he is, and then at Jack, who rolls his eyes and slumps further into his chair. 

“Thank you, Miss Dupres,” Vera says, looking equal parts impressed, suspicious and grateful, “now someone tell me what you’re all doing in my office at seven fifty in the morning, please.”

“We got the book,” Hamish says. “And we know who’s trying to kill me. Sever me. Whatever.”

Vera looks up sharply but then she makes a face at him. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Randall and I aren’t healing,” he says begrudgingly. “I didn’t want to ruin my clothes with what I’m not healing from, so this was the best solution.”

“Excuse me?” she demands. “You’re not  _ what _ ?”

Randall holds up a hand. “Let’s start with the book and maybe we’ll figure out what this stuff is doing to us, then we can freak out. OK?”

She completely ignores him as she dumps her stuff at her desk. “Did you try healing spells?”

“Yes.”

“Potion?”

“Not yet.”

“Typical.” She rolls her eyes and stomps off down the hall. “Someone grab my coffee.”

Hamish leans in to ask Randall, “What the hell was what about?”

“The coffee thing? That’s totally a bribe.” 

They walk into the side chamber to find Vera flitting around to gather familiar looking ingredients - it’s the sulfur-vomit scented one, which is great because it worked last time but gross because, well, sulfur-vomit smell - and says, “Miss Bathory, I believe you’re familiar with this one. I’ll have you take over, if you don’t mind.”

Lilith pulls the book out of her bag and hands it to her as they swap places. “It’s demon magic. Travenner and whoever is helping her are modifying a spell to sever a soul. We just don’t know how.”

“But,” Jack interjects, “since you know what’s in the stuff they tried to slip Hamish the other day, so you can look at the ingredients and hopefully tell us how they changed it.”

Vera blinks, shaking her head rapidly. “Wait, Travenner? As in Olivia Travenner?”

“Oh, yeah, her son killed Hamish’s girlfriend, so he killed him, so now she’s trying to kill him.” Randall glances at Hamish. “Sorry, I probably should’ve let you cover that part.”

He waves him off. 

“Hang on.” Vera sets the book down on the table. “How does she know he killed her son? We enchanted every single inch of the woods because of that scene. It was disgusting, by the way, Hamish. People had nightmares.”

“Yeah, well,” Hamish sighs, “I was a lone werewolf who just lost the first person I ever loved. You’re lucky I didn’t burn Belgrave to the ground.”

If Randall had been around for that, he would have brought the matches. He slips his hand into Hamish’s and squeezes. Hamish doesn’t look up but he squeezes back. 

Alyssa settles into the chair next to Jack’s. “Jenny Travenner had the book. I gave her a dose of truth serum and she told me that she took it from her mom. She has a fake copy now.”

Vera’s eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know why I’m surprised that you of all people would pull this off. OK, so. Travenner. Damn. I’m supposed to have drinks with her tomorrow.”

“Who set that up?” Randall asks.

“She did. She wants to catch up on what she’s missed since she’s been away.” Vera flips open the book and finds the page Lilith marked. Her eyebrows raise higher and her jaw drops lower as she reads. “Well, that is, frankly, an excessive amount of blood. Wow.”

“Not if you have small hands,” Randall points out, which gets him nothing but rolled eyes and “Randall…”s. “What? It is!” 

“So can you tell what they changed?” Hamish asks, winding his arm around Randall and pulling him against him, like keeping him close will somehow stop him from commenting on how dumb magic is. (It won’t. This just means he can keep up the commentary  _ and _ get snuggled at the same time. It’s a win-win as far as he’s concerned.)

Vera sits back down and taps her fingers against her cup. “It’s basically the same. No blood, obviously, but if it wasn’t for the amount it calls for, that’s not usually hard to work around. There’s always hair, teeth, flesh, skin, sweat, tears. You’d have to modify your incantation, but they would have had to do that anyway.”

Skin. It’s gotta be skin. Sever a hide, not a soul, you need skin or flesh, not blood. Or not just blood. A lot of skin, probably, but how would you get that much skin off of someone without killing or sedating them first? Or a palmful of blood…? 

Randall motions for her to pass the book over and stares down at the notes. The equations are all over the place and some of them aren’t even complete, like Travenner gave up halfway through, but he’s positive the left margin is covered in half-life equations. And the rest of these… 

He picks up the translation and reads through the brewing process. It’s just as involved as Lilith said, mixing and heating and straining and drying and mixing again. But if you need that much blood in the first place, why would you strain it out?

“What if the blood is just part of the sacrifice to power the incantation and you don’t really need that much for the actual poison?” He glances at Vera. “Everything else is just a drop or a pinch and none of it’s particularly gruesome. You said it yourself, it’s excessive, especially for how little poison this actually makes.”

Vera nods slowly. “That is… possible.”

“What if it’s more than one spell?” Jack asks suddenly. “Maybe she changed the incantations - one to set off the smoke bomb, one to finish the job.”

“Or two doses. She’s treating it like a drug instead of magic. She factored in our enhanced healing, metabolism, everything.” He points to one of the formulas. “Based on this, we’ll be back to normal by Sunday. She has to dose you again before then to either keep it going or sever you completely.”

“And she needs your blood,” Hamish adds.

“Looks like it. Or whatever she wants to substitute, I guess.”

Jack shudders. “No offense, Hamish, but this seems like a lot of trouble to go through when she could just kill you.”

Gabrielle takes the book from Randall to look for herself. “Initiation is on Saturday. I bet she wants an audience. Besides, why would she kill you when she could ruin your life in a painful, agonizing way?”

“On a less ‘Welcome to this week’s episode of  _ Criminal Minds _ ’ note, maybe she really does need a piece of me and now that we can’t heal, she thinks she can take us.” Randall rests his head on Hamish’s shoulder. “What would you do if someone tried to take a literal chunk out of me?”

“Break their neck and throw their carcass against the wall so hard their spine shatters. If that's not an option anymore, I'd probably just find something to beat them with.” 

Hamish is pretty good in a fight, Randall still likes his odds in the second scenario. To everyone else, he says, “See? There’s no way she could have gotten close enough to me before.”

“You two have only been together for two days, though,” Alyssa points out. “Unless she saw the obvious pining, how would she know to go after you?”

Jack shrugs. “She probably didn’t and got lucky. ‘Drinks with Vera’ is probably code for ‘Kill Vera.’”

Vera scoffs into her cup. “She can try…”

“If she tries to cancel, don’t let her," Randall says. "Just tell us when and where and we’ll take her down.”

“I’ll do you one better and move it up to tonight. We’ll get her to talk and you can turn her bones into a chandelier or whatever it is you want to do-”

Oh, that’s a nice idea. Or maybe wind chimes on the porch for when they get a hammock. That would be romantic. And creepy, but isn’t that his whole life in a nutshell these days?

“- and we can all move on with our lives. Sound good to everyone? Great. Be here by seven. If you’re late, we’re starting without you.” She sits heavily, glaring around at them. “Do you realize how simpler my life would be without you all?”

“You shouldn’t have recruited Jack,” Randall says easily.

“Technically, you turned me into a werewolf after I already joined the Order, so this is all you.”

“But Hamish turned me into a werewolf, so really this is his fault.”

Alyssa smacks her hand on the table, making everyone jump. “I’ve got my question!”

* * *

The question has to wait for later because the potion is ready, but they - against Hamish’s strong objections of “She’s our boss!” while Randall laughed so hard he nearly fell over because she’s also his ex/former friend with benefits - explain the bet to Vera, who immediately tells Gabrielle, “There isn’t enough coffee in the world for me to tell you about anything that happened between me and Hamish, but nice try.” Her face twitches every time she looks at Hamish, like she’s trying not to laugh, though, so maybe Gabrielle wasn't far off in assuming she'd want in.

Before Hamish can step up to try it, Randall’s shirt is off and he’s grabbing a leaf to drag through the bubbling goo. 

“Hang on, it-”

Nope, too late, he’s already pressing it onto his chest, and, holy shit, that really burns and “OW!”

“-stings,” Hamish finishes lamely, jumping up from where he was leaning against the table and swatting his hand away. “Here, I’ve got it.”

  
“That means it’s working, right?” Randall whines. He watches Hamish wipe the mess away to reveal perfectly healed skin. No bruising, no punctures, no… oh, just kidding, it’s back.

Hamish throws the mess down onto the table. “Apparently not.”

“Why isn’t anything working on these?” Nicole asks as she glances over the translation. “There’s nothing in here that would create non-healing wounds.”

“I guess you’re just going to have to heal the old-fashioned way for a few days,” Jack says. “That stuff  _ will _ only last a few days, right?”

Randall shrugs and pulls his shirt back on. “That’s what it looks like. We won’t know until we get her to talk.”

Hamish nudges Randall. “Let’s go check on Tundra and Greybeard before it gets too crowded around the woods.”

“Want us to come with?” Jack asks.

They probably should in case something goes wrong, so it shocks him when Hamish says, “Thanks, but I think we’ll be fine. If you’re going back to the Den, though, can you take this stuff with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says easily. “Let us know how it goes, OK?”

He nods, wraps an arm around Randall’s shoulders, and leads them towards the door. “See you guys tonight.”

Randall turns to wave, murmuring to Hamish, “Care to clue me in on what's happening here?”

“I’m going after Travenner,” he replies in a low voice. “Now.”

“Dude,  _ finally _ !”

“I didn’t say ‘we.’” He stops and turns to face him once they get outside. “We’re not healing. If she hits us with something and we start bleeding, she’s not going to let you go before she casts the spell. It’s going to hit us both.”

“So we’ll knock her out and tie her up or something.”

“This is bigger than me, Randall. If she starts over with the poison bomb, every single one of us is at risk of getting severed. I can’t take that chance.”

Hamish  _ would _ throw himself into the fire to keep the rest of them warm. Never mind that once the fire burns out, they’d be lost without him. Especially Randall. 

“You’re not in charge anymore. We are. Protecting them is my job, too, so I’m going in with you whether you like it or not.”

“Randall, if something happens to you…” Hamish rakes his hands through his hair, pacing towards the steps and back. “They need you.”

“They need us,” Randall snaps. “Why did you pull me out here if you weren’t taking me with you?”

“To say good-bye. Just in case.”

“OK, let’s clear a few things up,” Randall says firmly as he steps into his path and grabs him by the shoulders. “You owe me at least three more dates, dinner, two days of sleeping in with me till noon, a solid makeout session on your kitchen island, and you said you wanted me to top when we have sex on the couch while all our friends are sleeping very lightly upstairs because they’re werewolves and their hearing is ridiculous. You're not allowed to die.”

  
Hamish stares at him.

“Seriously, one time, Jack and I heard a mouse in the basement from my room when we were playing Call of Duty at max volume.”

He blinks. 

“What? It happened! I wanted to keep it for a pet but I don’t really have time for that, so I-”

“No, I believe that,” Hamish says, waving the comment off. “I was going to say that all of that stuff is the bare minimum of what you deserve. And I was planning on at least blowing you on the island.”

“Good.” Randall runs his hands down Hamish’s arms to link their hands together. “Another thing - we’re going to have this argument a lot, so let’s save ourselves some time and establish that we live dangerous lives which require us to take risks, some bigger than others. We can’t protect each other from everything, I get it, but we can’t stop each other from trying, either, so just let me help you.”

Hamish sighs heavily, head tilting to the side like the reality of their situation is physically weighing him down.

“Hey.” He bumps their foreheads together. “You and me. Right?”

“However long we get,” he confirms. 

“Also, she has department meetings or some bullshit every morning until eight-thirty, so she’s already on campus.” Randall leans in and kisses him, quick and firm. “You were about to drive all the way to her house for nothing.”


	8. In which we meet our villain, Greybeard gets clingy, and nothing makes sense anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a minute. Hopefully it's worth the wait and everyone is staying healthy and taking good care of themselves!
> 
> More smut in the next chapter, but we do have some violence! If you want to avoid it, stop reading when Randall calls someone a coward and start again when he spits out a mouthful of blood!

“So, how do you want to do this?”

The wind’s picked up in the short time since they left the Temple and started their trek to the other end of campus. Randall wishes he’d grabbed a heavier jacket. He noticed Hamish stuff his hands into the pocket of his - formerly Randall’s - sweatshirt, but he seems otherwise unaffected. Hamish tends to prefer cooler weather, anyway. Maybe it has something to do with Tundra. 

He must have shivered harder than he thought because Hamish hooks his arm around his neck and pulls him in close as he answers, “The same way we do all of them. One of us talks, one of us looks menacing, only instead of shaking hands or signing contracts at the end, we kill her.” 

“Hamish, this is a little different than dealing with the Praxholes or the Children of the Tree.”

“I hope I’m there when you slip and call them that to their faces.”

“I call them ‘Praxholes’ all the time, they think it’s hilarious, but to be honest, the other ones give me the creeps. I refuse to talk to them.”

“ _That’s_ why you’re always so quiet in those meetings? I thought you were just trying to look intimidating.”

“They turn dead people into trees and drink the stuff that leaks out, that’s a solid ‘no’ from me.”

“... great, now that’s all I’m going to be thinking about when I have to meet with them.” Hamish glances over at him without breaking stride. “I do have an idea, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should use Jenny as leverage.”

At some point in his life, Randall would have had a problem threatening the life of an innocent eighteen year old girl in exchange for information, even if it was to save someone he loved. Or multiple someones. He’s not sure if that changed when Greybeard chose him, any of the times he nearly lost Lilith and Hamish and Jack (see also: Trauma Chart), or sometime in between, but his only problem with it now is, “We don’t have Jenny.”

“No, but we have direct access to her through Alyssa and that’s all we need to tell Travenner.” 

It’s not as solid as Randall would like it to be. They have the book, too, so maybe that in combination with threatening her daughter will be enough to back her into a corner and get her to fess up, but it also begs the question of what they’re going to do if she doesn’t buy it. And, look, Randall will never trust the Order completely and there will always be a place for them in the black, shriveled up part of his heart where he holds onto all the things he hates in the world, but up until this week, things _were_ getting better. He doesn’t want to piss them off and go back to fighting all the time, or worse. 

“If we go after Jenny,” he says carefully, “and she’s not involved-”

“We’re not going to, though. All we need to do is let Travenner think that we will. Just trust me on this.”

It has nothing to do with trusting Hamish and everything to do with Travenner potentially being more steps ahead of them than they know. He can't come up with anything better on this short of notice, though, so he just nods. 

They walk the rest of the way like that, with Randall tucked in close under Hamish’s arm, but the closer they get to Travenner’s office, the more restless Greybeard gets, pacing and gearing up for something. What exactly he’s psyching himself up for could be anything from getting his teeth on Travenner to their next meal - to be fair, Randall would probably be so hungry that he’d start chewing on his own arm if he wasn’t so on edge - but it’s enough to get Randall’s attention. 

He murmurs into Hamish’s ear, “Greybeard wants out.” 

“So does Tundra.” He glances around at the steadily increasing number of people around them. “But he might just be acting bratty because I said we’d transform and now we’re not.”

“Maybe. This doesn’t really feel like - wait, Tundra gets bratty?”

“Doesn’t Greybeard?”

“Nope.” He’s trying very hard not to crack up as he pictures a sulking Tundra purposefully stretching out all of Hamish’s sweaters, scratching up his phone screen, shredding bedsheets, all kinds of petty bullshit. “No, he, uh, he’s pretty good except when there’s a sigil or poison involved.”

“Really?”

  
“He gets pouty sometimes. Is it like that?”

  
“No, Tundra’s more insistent. Especially since I stopped drinking.”

“What does he want?”

“Nothing I can do in public,” Hamish mumbles and nips him on the ear. “There’s your clue.”

Is it the bite or the fact that he brought last night that sends a shiver down Randall’s spine? What’s even weirder, though, is that Greybeard practically sighs. Apparently he’s not hungry or pissed off, he’s just Thirsty. 

Randall sighs. “We’re going to have to talk about them, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but first we’re going to have to talk about what our friends are doing here.”

Randall’s eyes shoot up to the front of the building and, sure enough, the Knights + Two are waiting for them. Honestly, why is he even surprised?

“Vera told us to come make sure you don’t do something stupid,” Jack says as they get closer, “but we kind of miss doing dumb shit together. Plus five werewolves are better than two malfunctioning ones.”

“Technically that only makes three werewolves,” Randall points out, leaning into Hamish a little harder. He adds to Nicole and Alyssa, “What about you two?”

“Oh, we’re here to save all of your asses when you get in over your heads,” Nicole says matter-of-factly. “And because we know that whatever your plan is, it’s going to suck.”

“Or backfire like they always do,” Alyssa adds. “Big time. Like, BAM! SPLOOSH!”

Hamish scoffs. “They do not always backfire.”

Nicole coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like ‘magic heist.’ 

“Dude, that was Jack’s idea.”

Jack smacks him on the chest. “You went with it!”

  
“Uh, yeah, until you guys went all Ouija board on me.”

“And then you ruined it by being there.”

“I came back to warn you guys! It was -” A hand covers his mouth and presses just hard enough so that the next thing that comes out of his mouth is nothing but, “Blerpf!” 

Hamish wraps his free arm around Randall, pinning his arms down before he can reach up to yank his hand away. “Look, we appreciate that you guys want to help, but if she’s figured out how to bypass the blood or found an alternative, the poison won’t hit just me.”

Actually, Randall’s glad he can’t speak for this part. 

“We know,” Gabrielle says seriously, her tone bordering on grave. “And even if she needs it, the only person I’m in love with is myself, so once again, the strong, independent woman gets fucked over because she won’t lower herself to anyone else's standards.”

Shit… he didn’t even think of that. 

“But if Midnight wants in, I’m in, too.” She takes a breath and squares her shoulders. “He loves you guys, even though he still thinks Jack is an idiot, and Randall is a dork, and Hamish is a snob, and Lilith isn’t nearly as badass as she thinks she is, and Alyssa’s style is way too preppy for her personality, and Nicole is too nice, and all of you need therapy.”

OK, now he’s gotta talk. 

He licks Hamish’s hand and it immediately falls away with a groaned out, “Seriously?”, which he ignores - also, his tongue has been almost _everywhere_ on Hamish’s body, why is licking his hand gross? - to say, “Midnight’s full of shit, but we love him, too.”

“He hates everyone’s clothes, actually.”

Mhmm, sure 'Midnight' does.

“Look,” Jack says with a sigh, “I’m not saying it’s comparable to what’s happening here, but Silverback and I got separated before and we came out of it OK.”

“Jack, you died.”

“Technically, yes. But I also lived, so…” He shrugs. “How much worse can this be?”

The words ‘unbearable pain’ pop into Randall’s head, along with the implications of the sever, if they even survive. They’d still be friends at first, probably. They’d see each other at the Temple and on campus, but it wouldn’t be the same. Then they’d graduate and move on with their lives. Probably move away. If Randall lives long enough to graduate, he’ll have to go to Belgrave’s medical school to stay close. They’ll fall out of touch. He’ll have to find new champions to wear their hides long before any of that even happens, so maybe they’ll slip out of each other’s lives way before graduation. 

He can’t imagine better Knights than this group. Hamish has been through a few rotations, but this is all Randall’s known. Having to replace them… 

Randall tilts his head back to murmur into Hamish’s ear, “We could just walk away now and wait to hear from Vera.”

“We could,” Hamish says noncommittally. “Is that what you want to do?”

What Randall wants to do is go home and make out with his boyfriend in the shower. Lay around the Den with their friends. Cat nap on the couch. Or go back to the apartment. It may not be home, but it’s safe and quiet and it feels like it’s their own little world. And if he told Hamish that’s what he wants to do, he'd drop it immediately, but he knows Hamish. He won’t rest until he has all the answers. And Randall can’t take even the smallest chance that whatever Travenner’s doing won’t hurt any of the others. 

Greybeard shifts under his skin with the promise that whatever happens next, he’ll handle it if Randall won’t. Or can’t. 

“Let’s do it.”

Hamish’s arm tightens around him - gratefully or comfortingly, Randall will never know - as he looks back to their friends. “Right now all we’ve got is storming into her office and threatening her daughter to make her talk, so if you’ve got something better, I’m all ears.”

“Before anyone freaks out,” Randall adds to Alyssa’s and Nicole’s matched expressions of shock and outrage, “we're not going after Jenny. We just need to make it believable.”

Jack folds his arms over his chest, “OK, not a horrible idea, but we can’t do this in her office, guys. It’s going to be a bloodbath by time Randall and Greybeard are done with her.”

He’s damn right it will be. 

“Good thing the Grand Magus has an emergency and needs Dr. Travenner to come to the Temple immediately,” Alyssa says very seriously, grabbing Nicole's arm and pulling her towards the doors. “Head to the woods and get ready to grab her when we walk by. We'll meet you back at the house.”

Greybeard surges at that. Yeah, buddy. They’re going to get her. Just hang tight.

They head in the opposite direction and duck into the wood, huddling close enough to the treeline to see but far enough that they’re visible from the outside. 

Lilith throws a stick at Randall, which hits him on the forehead before flopping down to the ground. “I can’t believe you were going to kill her without telling us.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he says with an apologetic smile. “Hamish pulled a Frodo, so I pulled a Sam.”

“Of course you did,” she says with a sigh. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah. Just ready to get this over with.”

“I get that,” she sighs and leans back against a tree. “So. You’re way kinkier than I thought. Or is Hamish the kinky one and you just roll with it?”

Nope. He knows what she’s doing and it’s not going to work. “Hey, how’s Timber been lately?”

She throws another stick at him but it goes wide and shrugs. “Honestly?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s been a little weird ever since I got back.” She glances up at him. “Do you think I missed something and now everyone’s in danger because of me?”

He sighs and snaps a twig off a tree and throws it in her hair. “No. But none of us have been listening to the wolves lately. Except Gabrielle. We all might have dropped the ball on this one.”

“I tried meditating like Gabrielle last night, and I think it actually helped a little. Maybe we should all do it.”

Randall raises his eyebrows at her. “Have you met me? You really think I could sit still and focus on my breathing and all of that?”

“I’ll bet you could if Hamish tied you up and blindfolded you and told you to be good.”

“That is not…” Nope. He’s not touching that one. “We all just need a solid weekend of wolfing out and pack bonding.” 

“That, too.” 

“And then maybe we can talk about the demon thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not even to brag about your cool new demon power?” She lifts her head to glare at him. “Oh shit, is it not cool? Did you get stuck with a dumb power?”  
  


The glare intensifies but he’s saved from evisceration by death stare by Nicole’s voice filtering in through the trees, followed by Alyssa’s response and a third unfamiliar but distinctly female voice.

Randall tucks his sigil into his pocket and gets undressed. His pants barely hit the ground before Greybeard’s hide slips over him. 

When Greybeard takes over, everything goes sharp and clear - the wet, mineral edge to the soil underfoot, the rich, almost heady smell of trees. He smells the rain gathering in the dark, menacing clouds overhead, and he swears he can hear the wind whip through the grass, the roots and branches creaking and stretching as they grow. He loses certain colors, but what he gets back is catching the twitch of an eye long before it actually blinks, the vibration of the leaves just before they rustle. 

It’s easy to hear the girls and Travenner now. “- for coming on such short notice. Hopefully we beat the rain.”

They won’t. The sky is going to open up any minute. Greybeard can feel it. 

“I didn’t even know it was supposed to rain today. It must be one hell of a cold front.”

She’s wearing stilettos and carrying a big purse, maybe even a tote bag, he can tell by the way her feet strike the path. 

(See? Superpowers.)

The others need to move on and it’s just then, as he turns to move them along, that Greybeard notices Hamish. More importantly, how Hamish smells like them now. 

Now, Randall has been wearing Greybeard’s hide for a minute. They’re probably not as close as Tundra and Hamish - or Midnight and Gabrielle -, but he likes to think they’re pretty damn simpatico. He always knows what to expect when he lets Greybeard out, hence he’s the one who gets sent out on raids and missions and all of that jazz.

So imagine Randall’s shock when Greybeard steps right up to Hamish, rumbles out something that sounds dangerously close to a _purr_ , and sniffs. His. Hair. 

Hamish freezes. He doesn’t smell like he’s panicking, but he’s tense, holding his breath and keeping his eyes down. Greybeard doesn’t like that, so he butts his head against his chest, not hard enough to knock him over but enough to startle a laugh out of him. Yes, that’s much better. Also, what the _fuck_ is happening?

Lilith’s and Jack’s concern also appears to have shattered, given that Lilith is shaking with barely contained laughter and Jack’s mouth is opening and closing but he can’t seem to form words. Keep trying, buddy, you’ll get there. Gabrielle just gives him a look, expression caught somewhere between amused and disgusted. 

“Is that Greybeard or Randall?” Lilith asks.

“I think,” Hamish says quietly, “that it’s Greybeard…”

Oh, so it’s weird that Greybeard wants to play nice and make sure his champion’s boyfriend is OK, but not when he’s marking him up during sex. Because that makes sense. What the hell does Randall know? He’s in the backseat anyway. Don’t mind him. Just watching while his werewolf snuggles up on his boyfriend. No big deal. 

Jack finally finds his words, “Hey, Randall, I told you Greybeard was into Hamish!”

Greybeard snaps at him.

“Hey,” Hamish says in a soft voice. “Silverback won’t be too happy with you if you eat his champion.”

Silverback will be in a box waiting for the next dumbass to wander along and open it, but sure, let’s go with that. He’s much more interested in Hamish reaching out towards him, hand hovering halfway across the space between them. He tilts his head, considering the gesture and how best to respond till Randall prods him that he just wants to touch you, dude, put your big head down. 

He does, and then long fingers sink into the fur at the top of his head and Greybeard thinks it’s weird, but acceptable. When he looks up, a smile pulls at Hamish’s lips. 

Yeah. Definitely acceptable. 

Gabrielle tugs on Hamish’s sleeve. “This is all very sweet, but they’re getting closer. We need to go.”

Hamish nods and says to Greybeard, “Bring her to the clearing. Try not to let her scream, but don’t kill her yet.” He pauses and adds more quietly, “Be careful.”

Aww. Well, not to Greybeard. He thinks it’s insulting - he’s a freaking werewolf, what’s she going to do to him? - but Randall reminds him that it was directed more so at him and to just growl at Hamish to get moving so they can do their job. 

Greybeard watches them go for a moment before redirecting his focus to Travenner and the girls.

“Vera has done the best she could with some… unique circumstances.”

The first rain drop whistles past his ear and lands with a quiet _plop_ on the ground. And then another and another, but he hears their conversion as if they were right in front of him. 

“She certainly has,” Alyssa replies in an overly bright voice. 

Just a little closer...

“Ow! Oh my god, my ankle!

“Are you alright?”

“Nicole, oh my god! What happened?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot how slick this path gets when it rains!”

Closer...

Nicole hobbles very convincingly over to a lean against a tree. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Here, let me-”

Greybeard charges. He grabs Travenner and throws her into the woods like a tall, slim ragdoll. She struggles to get back to her feet, but the force of the landing had to knock the wind out of her. She scrabbles at the wet dirt until Greybeard grabs her by her throat, careful not to snap her neck - although he really, really wants to - and lifts her off the ground to take her further into the woods.

Her mouth opens to scream but Greybeard howls over her, the sound punctuated by a crack of thunder. Birds erupt from the trees into the sky with frantic caws and the beating of their wings. Between all of that and the steadily pounding rain, no one’s going to hear her. She must realize it, too, because the color drains out of her face and her watery hazel eyes go wide.

He drags her to where Hamish is waiting in the middle of the clearing, flanked by Gabrielle, Lilith and Jack, and drops Travenner at his feet. Randall calls him back but he lets him stay close, lurking just under his skin. 

Hamish’s eyes rake over him appreciatively as he passes by. Randall’s just about run out of fucks to give at this point, so he pauses to press a light kiss to the side of his neck, murmuring “Got you something, baby,” as he grabs his sweatpants off the branch where someone hung them. 

When he turns around, Travenner is giving him a scandalized look. He snorts out a laugh and circles back toward her. 

“If it was up to me,” he says loud enough to be heard over the rain, “your brains would be splattered all over the trees by now.”

He doesn’t miss the way Hamish licks his lips before stepping up to Travenner. “We haven’t officially met, but I have a feeling you know who I am and why you’re here.”

Travenner’s features stay frozen in shock for a beat before slipping into absolute seething hatred. “You’re the son of a bitch who killed my son.”

Hamish cocks his head. “And now you want to, what, sever me from my hide? Do I have that right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Your choice of literature suggests otherwise.” 

Her mouth snaps shut. 

“Maybe we should ask Jenny,” Randall suggests. 

“Stay away from my daughter!”

“We will,” Hamish says, holding up his hands. “Just tell us what we need to know and we won’t touch her.”

“Why should I believe you?” She scrambles to her feet, visibly shaking from head to toe. “All any of you have ever done is murder or fuck your way into the Order so you can destroy us from the inside.”

“We helped stop the apocalypse,” Randall snaps and pushes her back to the ground. “Where the hell were you?”

Hamish kneels down in front of Travenner. “Look, we already know what you did. If you’re not going to talk, we’re going to kill your daughter and then we’re going to kill you.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know you didn’t finish the spell. I know you need blood or something else to finish it, and I know you only have a few more days before whatever you gave me is out of my system.”

“If you really thought that, I wouldn’t be here.”

Sighing, Hamish stands and turns to Gabrielle. “You still enjoy torturing people, right?”

“I _do_ ,” she says brightly. 

Travenner starts toward them but Randall shoves her back again. Greybeard’s claws leave small tears in the shoulder of her shirt, just a small reminder of who’s in charge here.

  
  
“Is killing one of my children not enough for you?” 

“Aw,” Gabrielle coos with the slightest rasp in her voice from Midnight. “Don’t worry. We’ll let you watch so you can say goodbye.”

Damn. She’s good. But there’s also a strong chance she and Midnight aren’t playing and really want to torture someone. It's hard to say with those two. 

“Well, as long as she can still talk by time we get to that point." Hamish gives Travenner a shrug. "Usually they just scream and cry and stuff. Your call, Doc.” 

“Fine!” she spits. “Dr. Hemmings and I heard about the spell two years before Ryan was killed. We knew we’d never get it to work as is, so we started improvising. We hit a dead end. Hemmings moved on to new projects. You murdered my son. I left. Then Edward Coventry sent me the book after Hemmings’s lab exploded along with the reports, status updates, everything I’d need to know to find a way to either get you under the Order’s control or to put you down like rabid dogs.”

Randall glances at Hamish to gage his reaction - cool as ever, except for the brief moment when they lock eyes and he sees growing concern - and says to Travenner, “What kind of dead end?”

She scoffs at him. “You’ve seen the book.”

He flashes Greybeard’s teeth at her. It changes her tune pretty quickly, “First we had to translate it, and that took time. Then we had to manage severing the hide instead of the soul. And then we couldn’t figure out how to get that much blood or anything else off of someone and brew the poison fast enough to sever the werewolf before it had a chance to retaliate.”

“So you broke it down into two parts?”

“Oh, smart _and_ pretty! I almost see the appeal with this one.”

Now _that_ apparently crosses a line for Hamish. And Tundra, given that when he lunges at her and takes a swipe, he leaves a trail of angry red lines across her face that only just miss her eyes and mouth. 

Travenner yelps, hand flying to her face. It comes away shaking and bloody. She gapes at Hamish, like she can’t believe he really did it or that he didn’t just kill her. 

“That’s your last warning,” Hamish growls. (Do not get turned on in an interrogation, do not get turned on in an interrogation, do not…) “Answer the question.”

“Because there’s no getting around the quantity of blood or skin or whatever else you decide to use required to complete the sever. This bought us time and weakened the barrier between the hide and the person wearing it. The closer the monster stays to the surface, the greater the odds of a complete sever.”

Randall suppresses the urge to touch the bite on his chest, but only just. He catches Hamish watching him and jerks his head for him to keep going. 

Hamish’s attention snaps back to Travenner. “What about my eight hundred dollar coffee machine that you ruined? What was that about?”

And now he’s suppressing the urge to gawk at the price of that coffee machine.

“It was supposed to be the first dose. And the last.” She turns to Randall and leans in conspiratorially. “I never dreamed in a million years that he was really in love with you, but the way the poison reacted when he ran in after you? I’ve never seen it blow back up like that. It was very, very sweet. And very, _very_ lucky for me.” 

The way it reacted? “What are you talking about?”

“While I was looking for a way around the blood, I found out the poison is incredibly reactive when introduced to even trace amounts of blood, tissue, saliva, even skin cells if there were enough in the environment. All you have to do is say the incantation and it explodes.” She grins and the movement sends blood dripping down her face, bright and vivid against sallow skin. “If he had transformed, I think it would have worked. Or at the very least, you would have killed him yourself just to put him out of his misery. I don’t know what he did to you once he got you out of there that stopped it, but you should be in agony.”

Alright. Randall’s calling it - none of this makes sense: 

  1. He and Hamish both went into the office when the smoke bomb went off. They both felt something, but Randall seemed more affected. Greybeard froze him out after that, but if the barrier was weak, he would have been clamoring to hunt or eat a pile of nachos, that’s just how Greybeard is. (Note to self: ask Hamish how Tundra felt after the office incident.)
  2. Randall drank the cure-all. Hamish did not (Additional note to self: yell at Hamish later for not drinking cure-all). Less than twenty-four hours later, neither of them are healing, _but_ last Hamish used a healing spell on him right after and it worked. And then he healed Randall’s hand with magic and it’s still fine. The only things that aren’t healing are the wounds they gave each other. Which brings us to Randall’s next point of confusion...
  3. The wolves came out when they had sex. That’s… just a fact. It happened. Greybeard’s never done that before, and he knows Jack would have flipped a shit and tried to drown himself in the shower out of guilt if he ever did that with Alyssa, and Hamish might have been aloof when he first joined, but he would have warned him about that. And he’s read the books, he’d know if this happened to someone else. Now the wolves are being clingy to each other, which also doesn’t happen. That could be a barrier thing, but...
  4. If the barrier was weak, Greybeard would be doing whatever the hell he wants (See also: point #1).



He realizes no one is speaking and everyone’s waiting for him to react to what Travenner divulged, but all he can come up with is, “The poison doesn’t work.”

Hamish drops the super villain posture immediately. “What?” 

“It doesn’t work,” he says again. He turns back to Travenner. “Does whoever the fuck you’re working with need the book to start over?”

“No.”

Of course they don’t, that would have been too easy.

Hamish grabs his arm. “If it didn’t work, why aren’t we healing?”

“We are healing, just not from each other.” Randall pulls him off to the side. “Whatever’s going on with us, I don’t think it’s from anything she did. Hamish, I’m telling you, it doesn’t work.”

“Oh, it works.” A grin pulls at her features and sends blood running down her face. “I’ve done it twice.” 

Everything grinds to a halt. The wind, the rain, everything stops. 

But Greybeard? Greybeard is livid. It feels like he’s dragging his nails along the inside of Randall’s skull and down his throat. 

“How?” Hamish demands. 

She ignores the question and says to Randall, “Granted I had a chunk of flesh both times, but it worked perfectly.”

He thinks the color might be draining out of his face but he forces himself to inhale deep and slow. “Who. Did. You. Use?”

Her grin sharpens. “You’ll see.”

His eyes snap to Hamish, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention anymore. He’s staring out into the woods instead, eyes narrow and body radiating tension. Randall’s about to ask when he catches the scent, heavy with musk and rank like decaying leaves. And something warm, vaguely spicy… sandalwood? Vanilla?

“Alyssa!” Jack shoves past him. 

Lilith rushes after him. “If he’s got her, he’s got Nicole, too.”

They barely reach the treeline when the new guy bursts into the clearing. He’s massive, probably a head taller than Greybeard and broader, covered in dark, sleek fur that gleams like oil slick. Even his eyes are dark, barely visible under a heavy brow. And he’s got Alyssa in one hand, fingers gripping hard onto her short hair, and Nicole in the other, nails dangerously close to digging into her neck. 

Travenner stands slowly. “If any of you so much as lifts a finger to cast a spell or turn into a wolf, they’re both dead.”

Lilith looks like she’s either going to wolf out anyway or faint. Hamish grabs her and whispers something into her ear that makes her whimper. She looks at Randall helplessly and then back at Nicole. 

Nicole, for her part, manages a wobbly smile and says, “We’re OK.”

The werewolf snarls and both girls wince, but he’s staring at Randall. Greybeard’s hackles rise and he growls out an acknowledgement of his own: “Alpha.”

Alpha’s lip curls. 

What the hell is a Knight of St. Christopher doing with Travenner?

“OK,” Jack says loudly, glancing around the group. “Let’s all calm down for a minute.”

Greybeard would rather throw down than calm down. 

“I’m sure we can-”

“Trade,” Randall breaks in. “Take me and let them go.”

Alpha keeps his eyes locked on Randall’s, but he knows he sees Greybeard. He knows Greybeard is staring back, sizing the other werewolf up. 

  
“No!” Alyssa cries. “Randall, they- OW!”

Travenner hums thoughtfully. “Which one of them?”

“Both of them.”

“No. You and Hamish for the two of them.”

He feels his teeth lengthening, canines getting sharper. The colors are shifting. Leaves shiver before he feels the breeze.

“Come on, Doc. I’m the one you need, right? You want to carve out a piece of me or whatever? Let’s do it. Right now.” Greybeard's calling Alpha out. He must hear it because his grip loosens on Alyssa and Nicole. “All you gotta do is let them go, and I’m all yours.”

“Randall…?” 

The hide ripples over him slowly. He feels every inch of it wrapping around him, sinking down through skin and muscle, all the way down to his bones. The last thing he manages to grit out is directed at Alpha, with zero hints from Greybeard about where the hell it’s coming from: “Coward.”

Alpha roars, throwing the girls aside, and rushes at him. There’s barely enough time for Greybeard to take over and the collision sends them both crashing to the ground and sliding through the mud to the edge of the clearing. Alpha rears back, a hand raised to swipe down. Dumb move on his part, it just leaves his throat wide open for an attack, and Greybeard takes it, lunging forward until teeth meet flesh and muscle and fur. An explosion of blood, hot and metallic, fills his mouth and spills over his jaw as he clamps down. 

He waits for Alpha to shudder and curl in on himself, or to try to throw him off, but he just goes still, chest heaving as he takes in shallow, rattling gasps of air. Then, slowly, he pushes off the ground and stands, dragging Greybeard up with him. 

Alpha isn’t gasping for air because he can’t breathe. He’s laughing. 

It occurs to Randall that this is Not Good. This is _so_ Not Good. He feels it when Greybeard realizes the same thing, even as he desperately tries to bite down harder, but he’s losing his grip as he dangles by the edge of his teeth. He barely notices Alpha raising his hand again before he slashes down and Greybeard only manages to dodge the blow enough that it doesn’t cost him his ear or eye, just the lower half of the left side of his face and neck. 

He stumbles back, but Alpha comes at him faster than he can regroup, tackling him back down to the ground, hard. His back barely hits the dirt before a foot lands on his chest, pressing down harder and harder and-

A huge, white blur slams into Alpha and sends him staggering. 

Tundra dives after him, latching onto Alpha’s elbow hard enough to crunch bone, and pulls until he rips the arm out of socket with a loud pop. It doesn’t seem to register as pain so much as it just pisses the bigger werewolf off, but Tundra’s eyes never leave Greybeard so he sees him approaching before Alpha does and releases him so quickly it throws him off balance. He falls face first, straight into Greybeard’s claws.  
  
He grabs his snout with one hand and his jaw in the other and yanks until he hears a pop. That probably would have gotten a yelp if he didn’t immediately reach into his gaping mouth, sink two claws down his throat, and rip back as hard as he can. Combined with the damage from his teeth, it’s enough to shred the entire front of his neck.

Alpha finally drops, blood glistening against dark fur, and lands with a heavy thud at their feet just as the rain starts back up, so cold it turns to vapor the moment it hits the corpse. The hide recedes to reveal a your average middle-aged white guy, probably Jim or John or Steve. He stinks like Travenner, so maybe he’s her husband. Or was.

Randall calls Greybeard back and breathes out a tired, “Good job, buddy.” He barely gives the mess a passing glance as he steps back, except to spit out a mouthful of blood in its general direction, blinking through the rain as he turns back to Hamish, and the look on his face...

Randall knows when he’s getting eye fucked and that is… definitely what’s happening right now. The way Hamish’s eyes rake down his body makes him feel hot all over, and apparently Hamish is out of fucks to give, too, because he just walks up to him and grabs him by the neck to crash their mouths together. It’s slick and wet and messy and Hamish licks the blood off his lips, his teeth, _sucks_ it off his _tongue_. 

Randall slides one hand into Hamish’s hair and the other down to grab his ass and pull him tighter against him. Then he’s being turned around and backed against a tree. They’re both slick from the rain and the slide of Hamish’s body against his is enough to make him dizzy. 

He sucks in a loud breath. “Are you OK? Did he-”

“No,” Hamish says quickly. “I’m fine.” 

“What happened to everyone else?”

“Silverback went after Travenner. Midnight and Timber got Alyssa and Nicole out of there.”

There’s no way Travenner will outrun Silverback. He’ll be dragging her back any minute. Randall should probably let go of Hamish and compose himself. Get back into murder mode. 

Hamish’s fingers hover shakily over the cuts on his neck. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“It wasn’t all me.”

“We were talking to both of you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He presses his hand to the side of Randall's face, thumb rubbing gently back and forth along his cheek. 

Randall tightens his grip on Hamish’s hair and guides him into a kiss, this one softer and slower, and murmurs against his lips, “Thanks for saving us. Both of you.” 

Hamish returns the kiss one more time before putting a few inches of space between them. “Still think the poison doesn’t work?”

“She said it herself,” Randall says. “I should be in excruciating pain. I’m more interested in how they Winter Soldier’ed Alpha.” 

“If she severed him twice, maybe it corrupted him.”

Maybe. But it felt more personal than that. The only thing Randall knows about Alpha is that he belonged to Salvatore and her dad, and he’s the strongest. He’s definitely the biggest. And, according to Greybeard, he's a coward.

Silverback breaks through the trees. Empty handed.

Randall straightens up and yells across the clearing, “Where’s Travenner?”

Silverback shakes off the rain and then it’s Jack striding towards them. “She pulled that teleportation shit.”

“She _what_?”

Jack sighs, shoulders slumping. “I thought it was just a Praxis thing. I’ve only ever seen Alyssa do it.”

Randall smacks Hamish on the chest. “Can you teleport?”

“Hypothetically any of us could but it requires a lot of practice and a bigger sacrifice than it’s worth, in my opinion.”

Fucking… “That’s it. I’m defecting to Praxis. I’m gonna be a Praxhole.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he sighs, “but seriously, why doesn’t the Order ever do anything cool with magic?”

Jack shrugs. “Blowing stuff up is cool.”

“And you were pretty impressed with the door thing,” Hamish points out.

“Turn off the lights without getting out of bed and we’ll talk,” Randall mumbles. “What do you want to do? Go after her?”

“No. We’re going home. After we make sure everyone is OK, we’ll call Vera and go from there.” 

Vera is going to kill them. Just… murder them all on sight. Then she's going to bring them back to life so she can yell at them and kill them all over again. Is that what Travenner meant by ‘excruciating pain?’

Jack claps him on the shoulder and says, “You think Alpha’s mad we joined the Order?”

“Pfft. I think he’s a giant bag of dicks. And I don't care who he picks for his champion after this, he’s definitely not moving in with us.”

“Seriously,” Hamish mumbles, snatching his hand and pulling him towards home, “fuck that guy.”


	9. In which Randall and Hamish work off some steam, have a tender moment, and ignore the greater situation for a while...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends!
> 
> This is... mostly smut. If you don't want to read it, stop when Hamish gets smug and drops towel (honestly, what else could happen after that) and pick it back up at "Hamish catches the hand in his hair..."
> 
> So, either the next update or the one after that will be a two for one deal because I have a brief interlude planned. I say this mostly to not cause panic if it takes longer than normal because I want them to post at the same time. 
> 
> Also, one of my dearest humans has commended I complete this fic by 10/23, so that is my goal for finishing the fic! It is exciting and terrifying but feel free to pester me to get it done!

It storms the whole walk home, and it isn’t a long walk, but wolfing out destroyed Randall’s sweatpants and his other clothes were soaked. The only thing left to wear is his sigil. (See, this is a time when magic could be really helpful, but no, apparently there’s no spell to conjure up an umbrella or dry off your clothes. Fucking magic…) Not that Hamish and Jack are any better off. They all look like drowned rats by time they get to the Den. 

The second they open the door, Alyssa tackles Jack, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. His arms come up around her immediately. He cradles the back of her head and smooths over her hair and Randall gets the strong feeling that he’s intruding on a moment and steps carefully around them to grab his robe and Hamish’s, which he passes back to him over his shoulder before putting his own on and heading further into the house. 

He finds Lilith and Nicole huddled together on the couch, towels wrapped around both of their shoulders and blankets over their laps. It would be cute and cozy under other circumstances and he’d probably sneak his phone out to take as many photos as possible before getting caught and chased throughout the house until she caught him and sent them to herself before deleting them forever. But they’re not smiling or laughing or gazing at each other affectionately. 

“Hey,” he calls, trying to keep his voice soft but they jump anyway. “You guys OK?”

Lilith lifts her head from Nicole’s shoulder. “That was fast.”

Hamish slips past him and drops heavily into his chair. “We lost Travenner.”

“What about-”

“Dead,” Randall says. “Husband, I think.”

Lilith laughs bitterly. “Figures.”

Yeah, it really does at this point. “Where’s Gabrielle?”

“On the phone with Vera.” 

Hamish heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I better go talk to her, too.”

“She’ll call you when they’re done,” Randall says. 

“Why delay the inevitable?” 

Because he’s stressed and heading towards a guilt trip fast and talking to Vera is probably just going to make it worse? Because, selfishly, Randall’s worried every single one of them is going to go down a rabbit hole of emotional turmoil within the next few hours and it would be a lot easier for him to manage that if he can keep Hamish’s stress level at a four instead of an eleven? 

OK, time to play dirty. 

Randall hops up and moves to stand behind him so he can rub his shoulders. It’s a bit tricky since he has to work around the scratches but he’s determined to get Hamish to chill out, even for a few moments. His muscles are every bit as tense as you’d expect from someone who is actively evading magical torture, just wrapped up a brief but charged interrogation, fought the biggest, baddest werewolf they’ve ever seen, walked home naked in a storm, and who’s about to get his ass chewed out by his boss/ex. 

He digs his thumbs into a particularly nasty knot between his shoulder blades, smiling to himself when Hamish grunts and shifts to give him more room to work with. He glances over at Nicole and says, “Alpha didn’t hurt you guys, did he?”

“Just some scratches and bruises,” she answers quietly. “Lil healed them already.”

Lilith tugs the blanket tighter around her and Nicole. “Why did Greybeard call him out like that?”

“They’ve got beef about something.” 

“You think it’s because you let Silverback out?”

“How would he know? He’s been MIA for the past sixty-something years.” 

Hamish straightens up and glances over his shoulder at Randall. “Something must have happened after they destroyed the Vade Maecum.”

“It could have been before.” Randall can’t reach enough of his back now that he’s sitting back in the chair - Hamish is probably on to him - so he slides his fingers into his hair and gently scrapes along his scalp. “I read a shit-ton of journals, none of them mention Alpha. You think Davis’s family always had him?”

“Possibly,” Hamish says around a sigh. “Feels good.”

“Good,” Randall says softly. 

Gabrielle comes in from the kitchen with a tray of mugs. “OK, I think I talked her down from a category three to a tropical storm, but, fair warning, she might work herself back up by the time she gets off the phone with her people and gets back to us. While she was screaming I made - oh, hey.”

He rolls his eyes. “Hey, Gabby, glad you’re OK, thanks for taking care of Alyssa and Nicole and calling Vera.”

“You’re welcome, and we threw all your shit in your rooms,” she says smoothly. “Someone grab the Kahlua and Baileys, I made cocoa.”

The ‘It’s barely fall, why are you drinking cocoa?’ must be clear on his face because she gives him a hard look and points to the windows rattling against the wind and the onslaught of rain. 

He bends down to whisper to Hamish, “Tell me the truth. How bad does it hurt your soul that this is what we’re drinking for apres-kill?”

“At least she didn’t use sprinkles,” Hamish mumbles. “Go get cleaned up. You still smell like blood.” 

Yeah, Randall desperately needs a shower. And floss. And mouthwash. And this is going to be one of those days that requires pants, unfortunately. “Didn’t bother you earlier.”

“It doesn’t bother me now.” Hamish grins up at him. “Hence, it’s a problem.”

Randall feels his face heat up. “You could come with me.”

“I have to talk to Vera. We need to have our shit together in case this gets back to the Council, assuming it already hasn't.”

Bummer. But he’s not wrong, so Randall gives Hamish’s head a final scritch and he's about to check in with the girls when Lilith fires off, “We're fine. If that changes, we'll come get you, but you stink. So go."

Well, that settles that. 

He heads up to his room - no sign of Jack and Alyssa anywhere, but he hears water running in the bathroom he shares with Hamish and Jack, so three guesses where they went - to grab a towel and redirects himself towards the girls’ bathroom. They won’t mind as long as he’s quick and doesn’t mess with their stuff, but it’s hard not to since there is so. Much. Stuff in there. 

Case in point, there are jars, bottles, tubes, pots, all over the counter. He opens the medicine cabinet to find mouthwash, and there are even more jars, bottles, and tubes, and finally mouthwash way in the back. 

After he rinses his mouth and de-robes, he pulls back the shower curtains. There are four different shampoo bottles, more little plastic tubs, three body washes - oh, wait, that one’s lotion. Somehow every shelf of the hanging shower caddy is packed and there are still things shoved into the corners. Against his better judgment, he examines the stuff sitting on the edge of the tub. Hair mask. Scalp scrub. Deep conditioner. Body scrub. Body conditioner… is he supposed to be doing all of this stuff, too? Is this why they take such long showers?

He sniffs the shampoos, opting to use the one that smells like coconuts, and gives himself a minute of basking in the hot spray before shutting the water off and retreating back to his room. 

After he knocks everything on the side of the tub and puts it all back in roughly the same order. 

  
Once he gets back to his room, he has every intention of getting dressed and heading back downstairs, but he can’t stop himself from flopping backward onto his bed and starfishing across it. It is immediately clear that this was a mistake because now he never wants to get up. Except, the draft from his window is freezing on his damp skin, and he really should get up and just put some clothes on, but he’s already in bed so he might as well get under the covers. He probably won’t fall asleep, but if he does, Hamish will wake him up. 

* * *

Someone is shaking his shoulder. It smells like Hamish, but that’s impossible. Randall just closed his eyes for a minute and Hamish had to talk to Vera and take a shower. The whole sequence would take at least forty minutes, and Randall’s head hasn’t been on his pillow for more than thirty seconds. No way. 

He peels his eyes open and, yep, it’s Hamish. Towel around his waist and hair mussed from the shower - _damn_ , what a sight to wake up to -, smiling softly down at him. 

“Hey, pretty,” he says, voice raspy from sleep. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” Oops. “I came in earlier and you didn’t even budge.”

Damn. “Sorry.” 

“For what? Being exhausted?” 

“No, but I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” He reaches out for Hamish’s hand and pulls until he sits down on the bed. “How pissed was Vera?”

“Pissed, but not necessarily at us. A couple guys from Praxis came to take the body for the recalling incantation. And they brought Alpha's hide locker to the Temple.”

“They still had it?”

“They’re under the impression that they do.” He rolls his eyes. “Probably another glamour spell.”

“We could have gotten the body faster. It’s literally in our backyard.”

Hamish turns Randall’s hand over in his, thumb stroking across his palm lightly. “We could have if Travenner didn’t show up right after Gabrielle called Vera and accuse us of murdering her husband and attacking her.”

“She _what_?” Randall shoots upright. “Tell me Vera doesn’t believe her.”

“Of course she doesn’t, but Gabrielle interrupted a meeting with Xavier and a few of the higher ranking Council members and whoever Praxis decided to send this month. And then Travenner came running in, screaming her head off in front of all of them. She didn't have a choice but to pretend she doesn't know anything about what Travenner is going.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Hamish shakes his head. “We are, effective immediately, under house arrest pending investigation.”

All Randall can do is laugh, because this has to be the biggest load of bullshit he’s ever experienced in his life. And it’s so fucking typical of the motherfucking Order. 

“It was the best she could do."

"I know, I'm not blaming her, I just can't believe this shit. What else did she say?"

"She'll be over after they do the recalling incantation to help me doublecheck the protection spells around the house. She could get us back to the apartment but -"

"I’m not leaving everyone here while Alpha is still out there."

"Exactly."

"This feels like a trap."

"I know."

"All that incantation is going to prove is that we killed him to save Alyssa and Gabrielle.”

“I don’t know if it will go back that far. I don’t even know if it would show that since Alpha took over.”

“That fucking…” Randall drags his hands over his face and slumps back against the headboard. “So what do we do now?”

“Wait. Like we should have earlier.” He looks down at his hands. “I should have listened to you.”

“I never said we should wait.” 

“But you wanted to.”

He was Team Murder. He didn’t care how it happened. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Randall…”

“Hamibal Lecter...” 

“Is now really the time?”

“Fine. But none of what happened was your fault.”

“Whatever happens next might be.”

“How? I’m the one who attacked him.”

“That is exactly what I’m worried about. And if she brings up that I killed Ryan, I might have to answer for that, and then we’re right where she wants us.” 

“She won’t. That would prove she set this entire thing up for revenge. I’d still like to know how she figured that one out, though.” 

The lack of response tells Randall that Hamish has too many theories to discuss all of them right now, he has no idea at all, or he knows how exactly, but all he says is, “We should have gone after her.”

“Maybe,” Randall concedes, bumping his forehead against Hamish’s shoulder. “But, in hindsight, we had no idea where she went, no clothes, and we didn’t know if everyone was OK. You made the right call.”

“Hopefully.”

“Hey, I mean it. It was a good call. Our only other option was to go with her and there was no way I was going to let her get you.”

“That’s another thing. What the hell were you thinking offering that trade?”

“Uh…”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“In my defense -”

“Not a great way to start.”

“I panicked?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the one who did it.”

Randall groans loudly. “What was I supposed to do, Hamish? They had Nicole and Alyssa, and Greybeard wanted to rip him Alpha a new one, and, best case scenario, I killed her the second I got close enough, worst case scenario, she took me back to her evil lair until you guys rescued me or I escaped.” 

This is the least impressed he has ever seen Hamish look in his life. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

He’s really not. “Hamish, if it comes down to you and our friends or me, I will always choose you.”

“You realize if she got you, she would have everything she needs to make the poison and sever me from Tundra, right?”

“It doesn’t work.”

“She said if I wolfed out, it would have worked.”

“She’s guessing, Hamish,” he insists. “I can prove it. What did it feel like? When you went in after me?”

“It felt like… getting stabbed in the stomach by a spike of ice the size of a battering ram which injected me with a boatload of liquid nitrogen.” 

“OK, first of all, that’s horrifying. Second of all, I didn’t feel anything like that so whatever she did didn’t work. Third of all, what the fuck, Hamish, how the hell did you walk out of there?”

“It didn’t last. I barely felt it by time I used that spell on you.” 

“Is that why you didn’t take the cure-all?”

Hamish blinks a few too many times to be experiencing anything other than the moment of sheer panic when you just got caught red-handed. “Um…”

Um? Hamish doesn’t say ‘um.’ Randall can’t think of a single time in his life when Hamish has responded to a question with anything that wasn’t intelligent, sarcastic, another question, or an actual answer. 

“We used the last of the ingredients to make it for you.”

Randall sits up straighter and twists to face him. He might be joking. Hamish has a dumb sense of humor (see also: elephant seals). But he just looks back at Randall and winces. 

“How the hell,” Randall begins slowly, enunciating each word carefully so Hamish can’t wiggle his way out of answering the question, “do you run out of ingredients for a potion that literally cures everything?”

“We’ve been sharing with the Sons of Prometheus while they get back on their feet and giving some to Praxis to get them stabilized. We’re blowing through everything faster than we thought.”

“Who’s in charge of inventorying that shit?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to go find them and Greybeard’s gonna eat them!”

“Randall, I’m fine, and it doesn’t work, so-”

“Oh _now_ it doesn’t work?” he cries. “Hamish, you can’t make decisions between us like that! You should have told me!”

“You are taking this worse than I anticipated, and while your response is completely fair, I have a question.”

“What?”

“Am I the pot or the kettle in this scenario?”

Is he fucking serious? This asshole sucks in some poisonous smoke, knowing someone put it in his office to probably kill him and everyone is doing all this, this, this stuff to keep him safe, and he thinks Randall fighting Alpha is… is… 

Hamish lets out a long, smug sigh and gets up, dropping the towel before peeling back the blankets to crawl into bed. Randall is set on ignoring him but it’s hard to keep that up when he climbs on his lap and straddles him. It gives him a few inches of height and he has to lean down to press his lips to Randall’s in a barely there kiss, hands curling around his face. 

“Look,” he says lightly, pulling back ever so slightly when Randall tries to kiss him, “if you won’t be careful for yourself, pretend you’re doing it for me. Does that sound familiar?”

Yes. He said something along those lines to Hamish on the couch right before he ruined seals forever. 

“Nope.”

He settles his weight more firmly onto Randall’s lap. “Really? Never heard anything like that before?”

Randall shakes his head, trying to look as innocent as possible when Hamish’s dick is right up against his and his thoughts are anything but.

“That’s weird. I could have sworn you said that to me the other day and all I did was make an off-handed comment.” He dips his head like he’s going to kiss him but changes angle at the last second to trail his lips along Randall’s jaw, warm breath ghosting over his skin in a way that makes his eyes slip closed. “These cuts look a lot better.” 

The statement implies that the bite on his chest and the cuts on Hamish’s back are _not_ looking better, but Randall refuses to dwell on it when his boyfriend is naked in his lap. “Still an eight?”

He lets out a quiet scoff. “Maybe on a bad day.”

Guessing (hoping) Hamish is going for his neck, he tilts his head to the side, but Hamish bypasses his neck completely to press a wet, open mouthed kiss to the center of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Randall says around a sigh, “that I scared you earlier. And thanks for saving me.”

Hamish smiles and licks along the bite mark, grunting when Randall’s hand tightens in his hair - not because it hurts, because it turns Randall’s blood into molten lava - and says, “Gotta protect what’s mine, baby.”

He licks the bite mark again, and this time Randall’s entire body jerks.

“Good or bad?”

“Good,” Randall gulps. 

He traces the bite with his tongue. Randall’s head tips back against the wall, free hand flying to his mouth to muffle his moan as Hamish licks along his collarbone. 

He pulls Randall’s hand away and kisses each of his knuckles, then the tips of his fingers. “I want to hear you.”

“Everyone else might not.”

He shrugs in a very ‘Not my problem’ way and kisses over Randall’s palm, his wrist, all the way along the veins running up his forearm. 

“Has no one ever just kissed you all over like this?” He kisses the inside of Randall’s elbow - no, he is positive that no one has ever kissed him there because it’s a ridiculous place to kiss someone and it kind of tickles but Hamish can do it a million more times if he wants - and lets go of his hand. “You always look at me like this is the first time anyone’s ever touched you like this.”

“It’s different when you do it.”

“Why?” Hamish grabs hold of his hips and pulls until he’s laying down beneath him. 

Randall stares up at him, silhouette glowing from the light coming in through the rain splattered window, and traces his hands up his stomach. “Because you love me.”

“I do,” Hamish says, voice rose petal soft, and lowers himself down over him. “I’m sure lots of people loved you before. How couldn’t they?”

He rolls his hips. Randall sucks in a loud breath at the drag of Hamish’s cock against his. He says through his teeth, “Not like you,” and slips his arms under Hamish’s to slide down to his ass, urging him to move. 

In a move that makes him want to cry and scream in equal measures, Hamish grabs his hands and pins them to the pillow next to his head. 

“Keep those here for me, sweetheart.” He gives him a soft kiss. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“Kiss me for real.”

Hamish kisses him, slow and deep, licking into Randall’s mouth and running his tongue along the edge of his teeth. 

“What else?”

Randall digs his hands into the pillow. “You could, uh… my neck? Oh yeah, just like that.”

Hamish continues to mouth at his neck, teeth grazing the skin there, and then he bites down on a tendon and Randall yelps, arching up against him. 

“Hamish!”

He licks over the spot he just sank his teeth into. “You didn’t specify.”

Fucking… “Do it again. Harder.”

Hamish repeats the action on the other side of his neck, licking a long stripe up Randall’s neck before biting down so hard Randall sees stars. 

Hamish pulls off and surveys his works. “That one might bleed.”

Good, some distant part of his brain says. But what his mouth says is, “Keep going. Mark me up.” 

Hamish moves lower, sucking bruises onto Randall’s chest. And then a little lower, licking and biting along his stomach. And now he’s well into lower stomach territory, and Randall’s dangerously close to begging as his teeth scrape against the skin just below his navel. (He wants to cry and scream again.)

He sits up as high as he can without moving his hands - he’s going to rip the pillow in half by time this is over, but he’ll still be holding onto it, that counts, right? - to watch as Hamish nips along his hip bones and retraces the line of them with his tongue. Then he dips down further, blues eyes locked onto his face as he licks over the head of Randall’s dick before closing his mouth around him. 

The effort it takes not to thrust up into Hamish’s mouth is… Randall deserves a medal. He deserves a medal for holding onto this stupid pillow, for staying still, for not biting his lip so hard it bleeds so their friends don’t hear them because Hamish _wants_ to hear him and he’s doing his damnest to pull every single sex noise possible out of Randall (and there are A Lot). He’s going to need a trophy case by time Hamish is done with him. 

Hamish takes him deeper into his mouth with each bob of his head, hand working in tandem until he’s swallowed him all the way down. All the way. As in, Randall’s dick is touching the back of his throat. Hamish should get a trophy case, too. All the trophies. Holy shit, his mouth is perfect. So fucking perfect, Randall should tell him so, but just as he opens his mouth to tell Hamish how perfect his mouth is, he draws back, nearly pulling off before swallowing him back down so fast Randall nearly comes then and there. 

“Hamish!” he cries. “Fuck, baby…!”

He hums around Randall’s dick and works him at the same mind-blowing rhythm, building him up and up and up. The slick, sucking sounds of his mouth fill the room in between Randall’s own ragged breaths and wrung out chant of Hamish’s name. 

“I’m really close,” Randall warns, biting the words out through his teeth. 

Hamish pulls off slowly, like he really doesn’t want to. Randall really doesn’t want him to, either, hence the strangled whine that comes out of his mouth when all he meant to do was breathe, but that’s just par for the course. Hamish him doing the wildest things these days. 

“Do you want to come or keep going?” His voice is rough as sandpaper. It _does things_ to Randall. 

Randall pants out, “What happens if we keep going?

“Hmm.” Hamish sighs nonchalantly - the dazed look in his eyes tells Randall he’s a dirty liar and is just as worked up as he is - and suddenly says, “I was hoping you’d fuck me.” 

Hamish Duke saying he wants Randall to fuck him is the single hottest thing he has ever heard in his life. So hot he gets dizzy and his head drops back with a soft thud against the pillow and his stomach flips and his mouth goes dry and-

“God, baby, that blush…”

Yeah. That happens, too. 

Hamish bites the spot he’s been nuzzling. (Is sex with Hamish always going to make Randall feel like he’s dying in the best possible way?) “We don’t have to use a condom either.”

Gahhh… “What?”

“I got tested last week and checked the results while you were sleeping.” He switches to Randall’s other leg and sucks a bruise high on his inner thigh. “And you drank the cure-all, so…”

OK, Carpio, think … unsexy thoughts.

“Too bad I didn’t check my emails yesterday,” Hamish laments as his eyes rake hungrily over Randall’s body. “Could’ve filled you up and fucked you again while you were all sloppy and wet.”

(Camo-patterned cargo shorts. Temple robes and masks. Elephant seals. Crocs. Chewing tobacco. Mullets.) 

“That’s what I thought about in the showers. Then I started thinking about if you did it to me and since I was already in the shower, I just got myself ready and, well, here we are.”

“You do that a lot?” Randall’s brain can’t stop flipping back and forth between both mental images. (Clowns. Nazis. People who don’t recycle.) “Finger yourself in the shower and think about me?”  
  


“Oh, I do all kinds of things while I think about you. So,” he rests his chin on Randall’s leg, “what do you think?”

“Absolutely.” (Shit.) “I mean, yeah. Sure.” (That’s not better.) “Can we just pretend I said something really smooth?”

Hamish gives him a quick grin and Randall pulls him down into a hard, deep kiss, rolling them so he’s on top and Hamish is the one pinned to bed. Hamish moans into his mouth as their bodies crash together, hands sliding under his arms to stroke down his back. They don’t stop kissing for an instant while Randall reaches blindly into his nightstand. 

Phone charger? No.

Mouthwash? No.

Condom? Apparently not (Sweet Jesus). 

Wet wipes? Yes, but not right now.

...what is he touching? Weed? Does he still have weed in here? It feels like a bag of weed. Never mind, focus. 

Vibrator? … another time.

Lube, come on, where’s the… ah ha!

He closes the drawer and sits up - is that whine? Did Hamish just whine? -, grabbing Hamish’s hips and pulling him into his lap. “This OK?”

Hamish nods, watching Randall slick up his fingers, and says, “I already -”

“Too bad, I haven’t done it to you yet and I want to.” He sinks a finger inside of him. Fuck, he’s still slick from whatever he did in the shower and hot and somehow, even with minimal resistance, so, so tight. “Damn, you feel good.”

“I’d feel even better around your dick,” Hamish says through his teeth, knuckles going white where he’s fisting the sheets. 

“Yeah,” Randall breathes, pushing another finger in and twisting them. “Yeah, you will.”

He presses against Hamish’s prostate and he arches up off the bed, trying to grind back on Randall’s fingers but he tightens his other hand around his hip to keep him still. The claws are out before he realizes it, but just as he starts to let go, Hamish’s hand clutches him around the wrist and holds him in place. Sharp nails pierce his forearm. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but watching the blood pool under Hamish’s - Tundra’s - claws, inches above where his own - Greybeard’s - dig into the flesh on his hip... it knocks the air out of his lungs. 

“Come on,” Hamish says, swallowing hard enough for Randall to hear it, “I want you.”

He takes his fingers out slowly but Hamish still grits his teeth and squeezes Randall’s arm at the loss. He grabs the lube and spreads a layer over his dick as fast as he can before lining up and pushing in slowly. Hamish makes a noise caught between a growl and a whimper that makes him want to yank him the rest of the way down but he’s also shaking and his chest is heaving, so Randall’s going to go slow. Make it last. Make it good for him, like he did for Randall. Better, if that’s even possible, because he loves him so much it makes him crazy and he wants to give him everything in the world. 

Going slow helps but once he’s in, buried deep inside of Hamish, he has to try to remember the unsexy things he was thinking of earlier but thinking is… hard. Really hard. Because Hamish is tight as a vice around him and searing hot, and he can feel every fucking move he makes, feel him breathe and shudder and shift. 

He strokes over Hamish’s thighs, smoothing over his trembling muscles. “Tell me when to move.”

“I’m good,” Hamish breathes, nails dragging lightly down Randall’s forearms, “I’m just really fucking close alread.”

Randall laughs - have you ever tried to not move while laughing? Randall deserves another medal - and says, “Dude, same.”

“I can’t believe you just called me ‘dude’ with your dick in me.”

“Stop making me laugh.”

“I like making you laugh.” 

His voice is too soft, too tender to be winding him up. Something about that makes Randall… 

“You’re doing it again.”

Randall blinks. “What?”

“That look,” Hamish says. He sits up enough so that he can reach the sigil around Randall’s neck and pull him down. “C’mere.”

It is not a filthy kiss. It is a sweet, tender kiss. No tongue. No teeth. Just the gentle press of Hamish’s lips as they brush over his. And Randall could make it dirty. He could lick into his mouth or nip his bottom lip or kiss him so hard it almost hurts, and it would still be good - so fucking good - but this is… 

“It’s cause you say stuff like that and dothings like kiss my hands and call me baby and sweetheart and it makes me feel like a toasted fucking marshmallow. It never felt real with anyone else. It does with you.” Hamish cradles the back of his head and coaxes him into another kiss, like a reward, so he keeps going, “No one’s ever loved me like this.” 

“Someone should have.”

“It’s OK. You’ve got me now.” He kisses Hamish’s forehead. “Ready?”

“Yeah, baby.”

He pulls out and pushes back in, slowly, oh so slowly, keeping his thrusts shallow at first and then harder, deeper. He sticks to a languid pace, hips rolling at an angle that drags against Hamish’s prostate on every drag. Watching Hamish’s face carefully for signs it’s too much or not enough, committing every punched out gasp and whimper and moan and bitten out curse to memory. And he feels so good around him, clenching and writhing and grinding back on him, and, god, he’s so gorgeous, skin gleaming and muscles flexing as he arches with his head thrown back.

Randall leans down to kiss along the line of his exposed throat up, pausing over the bruise he left last night, suppressing the urge to bite him, trying not to think about how pretty Hamish looks covered in bruises. How a bite like the one on his chest would look right here. 

  
  


He rocks into him harder to drive the thought away and, _fuck_ , he’s not going to last very much longer. Not when he’s buried deep inside of him and he’s surrounded by all things Hamish, the smell of his soap and sweat and skin, his hands grabbing at his hair to tilt his head this way and that so he can kiss him as hard or soft or fast or slow as he wants until they’re both beyond kissing and just pressing their mouths against whatever skin they can find, breath hot and wet and heavy where it’s trapped in the miniscule space between them. 

He reaches down and gets his hand around Hamish, pressing his mouth to his ear as he strokes him in time with his thrusts. He feels the moment Hamish is about to finish, body going tense and tight and clenching just before he comes over Randall’s hand with a long, choked out moan that sends him crashing over the edge, his own orgasm hitting him in waves as he spills deep inside of him. He thrusts in a few more times, gasping at the wetness and how easy he slides in and out, before pulling out all the way. His dick gives a valiant twitch at the sight of his come dripping out of him.

He smooths a hand over Hamish’s stomach, rising and falling rapidly as he gulps in mouthfuls of air. “OK?”

“Perfect,” he grunts, fumbling for the towel he dropped earlier. 

“I got it.” Randall reaches over him to grab the wipes out of his nightstand. “You weren’t kidding about messy.”

Hamish huffs out a laugh that turns into a hiss as Randall cleans him up. 

“Hurt?”

“Cold.”

Randall bends to kiss his forehead. “Sorry.”

He tosses the wipes in the general direction of his trashcan and lets Hamish pull him down, shifting so Randall’s on his back and Hamish can rest his head on his chest. Randall vaguely wonders if he can feel his heart pounding and runs his fingers through his hair, still wet from his shower and now sweat. 

Hamish catches the hand in his hair and pulls it down to his lips. “You ever heard the story of Hades and Persephone?”

Randall shakes his head.

“Persephone was the daughter of the Greek goddess Demeter. She was in charge of the harvest. Hades, god of the underworld, saw her picking flowers one day and fell in love with her. So he stole her to be his queen.”

“That’s shady as fuck.”

“That’s a divine and all powerful being for you, but according to the story, they fell in love eventually. Anyway, he wouldn’t give her back, so her mother sent the world into a cold, dark famine until she got her daughter back. So many people died that the other gods got involved and made Hades let her go for six months every year. That’s how the Greeks rationalized the seasons. Persephone brought the spring and stayed through the summer, and as soon as she left, it changed to fall and then winter.

Hamish turns his hand, buries his face into his palm, breathes him in deep and hard. “That’s how I feel about you. Like I saw you in this perfect moment and you had your whole life ahead of you, and you’re so good, Randall. Kind. Warm. Smart. Loyal. Selfless. Exactly the kind of person the world needs more of. You had so many good things headed your way and you deserved every single one of them. God, you deserve… everything.”

“Then it’s a good thing you stole me because all I want is you,” Randall rubs his thumb over Hamish’s cheek. “You deserve good things, too, Hamish.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he leans closer. “You’re my good thing.” 

“So keep me.” 

“I will,” he says, warm breath ghosting over Randall’s lips. “I don’t care what happens to the rest of the world. I’m never giving you back.”

Randall closes the gap between them, smiling into the kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hamish says and kisses him again. 

They lay there for a while, Randall tracing over the new marks on Hamish’s hips while Hamish’s fingers study their own new handiwork on Randall’s arms. 

“Maybe it’s a mating thing.” 

“Maybe it’s an anti-mating thing. Werewolf birth control.”

“Or a praying mantis thing where someone gets their head chewed off during sex.”

“Jesus, Randall…”

“Sorry. Maybe they’re just being really bad wingmen.”

“Or possessive? Oh, what if it’s a dominance thing?”

“Maybe! Cause you’re doing all the Order stuff and now I’m Den Mom.”

“Right. Wait, Den Mom?”

“Fine, Den Parent.”

“That wasn’t the part I was… never mind. We should probably shower again.”

Probably, but also… fuck that. Randall wants everyone to smell them on each other. (Werewolves, right?) “Actually, I’m starving.”

“Lilith and Nicole made pancakes, that’s what I came up to tell you earlier when you were sleeping.”

“Are there any left?”

“Only a metric shit-ton.” 

“That’s… two and a half werewolf portions, right?”

Hamish laughs as he gets up, bending to grab his towel. Randall gets up, too, and snags an assortment of necessary-for-semi-public clothing items. 

“Ready to get bombarded with questions and judgy looks?” 

  
“Born ready,” Randall says brightly and swipes his phone off the desk. “Oh, wait, we’re already getting them.”

Hamish hums inquisitively and leans over his shoulder to look.

Lilith: _I get $200 if you call him daddy. Ill buy you pizza._

Randall glances at Hamish, who looks like there are a million things on the tip of his tongue and all of them are equally loaded, so Randall rescues him, “We can try it if you want but it’s not my thing.”

“Nope, no thank you.”

Gabrielle: _Thanks from everyone who had you down for a screamer but tell Hamish to fuck you facedown next time._

Gabrielle: _Oh my god, are you seriously going again?!?_

Gabrielle: _But also..._ Fistbump emoji. _Get it, boy._

Lilith: _OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HAMISH TO MAKE HIM SOUND LIKE THAT_

Jack: _I dont think youre supposed to have fun during house arrest…_

Alyssa: Stripping chicken gif. 

Randall busts out laughing. Hamish rolls his eyes, but he laughs, too.

Gabrielle: _If you guys try for multiple orgasms, you have to tell me how it goes for science. Seriously. (Also, I can walk you through edging in exchange for cocktails and information.)_

This time when he glances at Hamish, he can tell he’s considering the implications of that statement more curiously. 

Randall bites his shoulder. “Later.”

  
And, finally, Nicole: _Laughing during sex = true love_ Heart emoji


	10. In which werewolves are complicated and Randall gets a pep talk from an unlikely source...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ... way longer than I intended. As I was writing, I realized just how complicated the relationship between wolf and champion really is, and how they interact with each other and the other wolves and their champions and other humans, etc, so it took me a minute to wrap my brain around all of it. Also, the show doesn't give us much to go on, so I just sort of... made it all up and hoped for the best. I'm sure I opened myself up to a big ole plot hole, but plot holes aren't so bad, friends. We'll just... dig tunnels and live underground. 
> 
> Also - 100 kudos?!?! You guys are the best! I'm so glad everyone's still reading and hopefully the previously mentioned potential adventure into the earth won't ruin it for anyone!
> 
> Anyway, the plan is for the next two chapters to go up at the same time since one of them is an interlude!
> 
> Hugs and best wishes to all of you!

Randall loves being bribed.

See, the moment he hit the landing, he was plied with a plate of food, which he scarfed down in record time before heading down to the basement with Jack and Hamish to look for books that might explain why they’re not healing from each other. And wolf out, just to see what Greybeard and Tundra do when they’re not distracted by the werewolf version of the Terminator. 

He glances over his shoulder at the girls, huddling together and strategizing their line of questioning before they come down to join them and says to Jack, “This is weirder than I thought it would be.”

“You started it,” Hamish yells over his shoulder, turning the corner toward their storage space. “How much money is riding on this thing anyway?”

“I think it’s up to six hundred bucks,” Jack answers.

Randall stumbles to a halt. “Seriously?”

“Gabrielle put up most of it, but there’s some kind of point system so everyone gets at least something back. They got really into it.”

“And your involvement in this is …?”

“Oh, I threw in ten dollars and let Alyssa go from there. I have no idea what she picked for me.”

That seems like cheating, but Randall can’t argue against it as far as strategy goes. 

He continues down the steps and into the room, finding Hamish with his shirt already off. His jeans are low enough on his hips to see the claw marks and Randall’s fingers twitch with the desire to trace them. He must be staring because Hamish gives him an amused look, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Randall shrugs, leaning in the doorway. “Does it seem like we’re getting naked a lot more than usual lately?”

“You might be. I’m wearing clothes just as often as I usually do.” 

“He says as he literally take his pants off.”

Said pants hit him in the face. “All that did was prove-”

A soft growl cuts him off. Randall pulls the jeans off his head and comes face to face, well, chest with Tundra. 

“Hey,” Randall says softly, holding his hand out. “Hi, Tundra. Long time no see, huh?”

Tundra stares at him for a long moment, still and silent, eyes piercing like he’s trying to look through Randall for Greybeard, who is giving Randall nothing but _!!!!!!_ , which is … so, so helpful. Thanks, Greybeard. 

But then Tundra lowers his head until he’s within touching distance. Randall figures that’s his cue, so he reaches out to run his thumb over the indent between Tundra’s eyes. The werewolf’s eyes slip closed with a deep, content sigh. Then he tilts his head until Randall’s hand sinks into the fur along his cheek, coarse and rough against his fingers, and Randall runs his hand up to scratch behind Tundra’s ears. It must feel as good for werewolves as it does for dogs because he nearly goes sideways and pulls Randall down with him, laughing, “Dude, your head weighs a ton.”

Tundra peels his eyes open to squint reproachfully at him. 

Randall smooths the fur back down. “Sorry. Greybeard has a giant skull, too, for what it's worth."

Tundra whines at Greybeard’s name, butting his head against Randall’s chest.

“OK, OK, hang on,” Randall says, stepping back to get undressed.

He tosses his clothes over by Hamish’s, rolls his shoulders, and lets Greybeard out.

Tundra’s on him in an instant, growling deep from his chest as his body slams into Greybeard’s, which Randall would say is a bad sign, but Greybeard makes the same rumbly purring noise he made at Hamish earlier and nips at Tundra’s ear. Maybe that’s his way of apologizing for rushing at Alpha earlier and Tundra is about to … rub his face against Greybeard’s… and then Greybeard’s going to… nuzzle… back...

The _!!!!!!_ finally registers as excitement ebbing into relief, a surge of familiarity and comfort from breathing in Tundra’s scent this close up. How has he worn Greybeard’s hide for three years and never noticed how Tundra smells like home to Greybeard? How the itch to move and fight and hunt goes quiet, settling into a pleasant hum in the background? 

Greybeard snuffles affectionately at the fur on Tundra’s neck and takes a playful swipe at his nose. Tundra snaps - grinning, Randall realizes - and bumps his head against Greybeard’s chin. 

All the times he and Hamish wolfed out in the woods, and it never occurred to him that they weren’t the only ones soaking up each other’s company. How the hell did they miss this? Randall needs to call Greybeard back so he can talk to Hamish about this, but they’re still rubbing and nuzzling and biting at each other. It’s … adorable. And it’s weird, but it's nice to know that Tundra makes Greybeard as gooey as Hamish makes him.

“What is happening?”

Greybeard shoots a glare toward the others, now hovering along the far wall.

Nicole grins, shaking her head. "Is this normal werewolf behavior?”

“No,” Lilith says, but she’s smiling, too, soft like she only does for Nicole and baby animals. “I’ve never seen them do this before. It’s… sweet.”

“Kind of,” Jack agrees, “but clearly Tundra and Greybeard like each other almost as much as Hamish and Randall, so why are they tearing each other to pieces?”

Alyssa snorts. “Yeah, they’re really doing a number on each other.”

Gabrielle groans, massaging her temples and mumbling, "Do I have to explain everything to these dumbfucks..." as she steps up in front of the group, angling slightly towards Tundra and Greybeard like she’s hosting a wildlife show.

“OK, dipshits, welcome to Werewolf Courtship 101! Lesson number one, werewolves can and will form deep emotional connections with each other. Most of the time they’re familial, like pack bonds. Sometimes they’re what we would call romantic and, as we can with the two specimens in front of us, they will demonstrate tactile affection when given the freedom and environment to do so. Which, apparently, none of you do. No wonder Tundra’s been such a sad sack lately…”

Tundra huffs in agreement. Aw, poor guy. Greybeard should buy him flowers or candy, or whatever the werewolf equivalent of that is. Oh, OK, apparently licking is the werewolf equivalent of that, which is very sweet - good move, Greybeard, way to take care of your… man? Wolf? Geez, this is complicated - but if Randall changes back and has werewolf hair in his mouth, he's going to look back on this whole experience a lot less fondly.

Jack glances at her and then at Tundra and Greybeard. “So were they going to possess Randall and Hamish and use them to-”

Greybeard snarls because, no. That is… wildly inappropriate and gross and - wow, thanks, buddy. If it’s so gross, why the hell did you get involved in the first place? - and they don’t do that - oh, he meant it was gross for him and Tundra. Never mind. (Honestly, that's a huge relief.) 

“Thank you for that disturbing visual, Jack,” Gabrielle says, shuddering, “but they aren’t sexual. The sex thing is just because Hamish and Randall have been wearing their hides the longest and they’re more in sync with their primal instincts. Hence they’ve been courting for literal months, maybe even years instead of human dating.”

“Courting?” Lilith asks. “ What are you talking about? They literally only got their shit together two days ago.”

“They’ve been werewolf-dating for months,” Gabrielle says slowly, like she’s talking to a toddler. “Exhibit A, Randall waiting up every night for Hamish, bringing him food, bringing him coffee, being generally supportive and attentive. 

"Exhibit B, Hamish calling Randall when he got stabbed, when he needed someone to help with negotiations, when he needed a ride somewhere, literally any time he needed something. 

“Exhibit C, Randall taking care of the pack while Hamish secured our safety by working with the Order. 

“Exhibit D, that stunt Randall pulled this morning.”

Nicole looks around. “What-”

“He literally dropped Travenner at Hamish’s feet and said, ‘Got you a present, baby.’”

Yeah, he… totally did that. This might also explain Hamish licking the blood out of his mouth afterward. Not that he would care if Hamish did that again. It was … stupidly hot. 

“Exhibit E, Randall fighting off a rival. Actually, Randall running headfirst into all kinds of dangerous things to make sure it’s safe for Hamish and the rest of us. 

“And, finally, Exhibit F, Hamish saving Randall from Alpha, pulling him out of the poison, literally holding him back every time he’s about to do something stupid. Guys, it’s standard alpha pair behavior. Add it all together and you get,” she gestures over her shoulder at Greybeard and Tundra, “a bonded pair of werewolves.”

“So… they’re not losing control of Tundra and Greybeard?” Lilith clarifies. “It just so happens that they bonded at the same time Hamish and Randall started dating?”

Gabrielle lets out a loud, frustrated groan. “Did Timber want to snuggle up on Greybeard when you and Randall had your little romance?”

“The Order memory-wiped us before we got past the ‘I like-like you’ part.”

“Fine. Does Timber harbor residual feelings for Tundra?”

Abso-fucking-lutely not. Greybeard snarls loud enough to make her jump. 

“It is a valid question,” she hisses over her shoulder. 

It’s crossing a line, that’s what it is. He’s about to stomp over there and remind Midnight who’s in charge here but Tundra snaps at him - Randall hopes that means Hamish is fine - to let it go. So Greybeard does. Even though he doesn’t want to. Because it was low.

Lilith sighs, leaning against the wall. “No. He just thinks of him as his packmate.” 

“And Midnight has almost negative interest in Greybeard even though Randall and I-”

Tundra growls at her, but that was definitely more Hamish than him. 

“- nevermind,” she says, wincing. “And dissimilar but still related, Midnight and Silverback fought to be Jack’s champion because both of them thought they knew best about how to move forward in dealing with the Order. So you tell me, does it sound like Tundra and Greybeard would bond just because Randall and Hamish fell in love?”

OK, this is enough. That is... one too many implication for Randall to let slide. Sorry, Greybeard, but he has to turn back. He promises to make sure he and Tundra get more time together. Greybeard huffs, disappointed but hopefully he gets it, and gives Tundra one last nudge before fading into the background. 

Hamish must have had the same thought because Randall blinks and his boyfriend is back, too. They’re still standing chest-to-chest, faces tucked so close together that he feels Hamish’s breath on his cheek. 

“I’m not doing this because of Greybeard, I swear.”

“I know,” he says quietly as he closes the gap between them to rest his forehead against Randall’s. “Remember when I said Tundra was lonely?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it wasn’t for the whole group.” 

"Apparently not,” Randall says and adds in a louder voice, “but she could have just said their relationships are dynamic from ours instead of implying our relationship isn't real!"

Gabrielle steps around them to grab their clothes and dangle them pointedly in their peripheral vision. “That's exactly what I was saying, you idiot! Next time I’ll just let everyone think your wolves are treating you like sex toys and Barbie dolls.” 

Randall snatches his pants from her and pulls them on. “I meant the fact that the whole time I was hot for Hamish, Greybeard was also hot for Tundra, but sure, those are good points, too. ”

She sniffs out a laugh. “Or they were always bonded just need compatible champions before they could do anything about it.”

Hamish stops halfway through pulling on his sweater. “Is the bond a social construct or more than that?”

“Do I look like a werewolf encyclopedia?”

“You just lectured on us werewolf dating, so... yes."

“What’s it matter?” Lilith asks. 

“Because if it’s a real thing, like a spell or something, they could have been bonded the whole time and never had champions who were compatible enough for them to do anything about it. Hell, they could have done this before the Knights of St. Christopher even existed.”

“So you’re saying,” Jack says slowly, “that Greybeard and Tundra aren’t just werewolf-dating, they’re werewolf-married.”

“I think they’d be werewolf-engaged,” Randall points out, “since they were waiting for compatible champions that whole time. Geez, that’s depressing…”

“Yeah it is.” Hamish winces. “But what I’m saying is maybe it’s like a soul bond.”

“Oh yeah, right... a soul bond,” Randall agrees, nodding along even though he has no idea what Hamish is talking about. “Pssht. Obviously that’s what this is. Because it’s a…”

Hamish gives him an expectant look. 

“… you know, you’re way better at explaining these things. You do it.” 

“Thank you.” He rolls his eyes. “A soul bond is one of the most powerful protection, healing, amplification spells in existence. You give someone a piece of your soul, they give you a piece of theirs, and you become a battery, a shield, a mirror, an anchor, everything to the other person. They fail over ninety-nine percent of the time, which leads to a slow, agonizing death, but when they work, the only things that can break a soul bond are death or extreme, severe, violent strain. Tundra and Greybeard are eternal, so if their bond is anything like that and they did it in the past-”

“They'd still be bonded now,” Randall finishes for him, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “And that’s why the poison didn’t work.”

“Exactly,” Hamish says with a smirk. “It leaves us with a lot of other questions, obviously, but I think I know where to go for those.”

A car rolling up to the house - Mercedes S-class - catches Randall’s attention, followed by footsteps on the driveway. Stilettos, probably ankle boots, five-four, tiny but walking with purpose… “Vera’s here. Everybody back upstairs, try to look sad and pathetic so she doesn’t yell at us.”

He waves them onward and finishes getting re-dressed.

“Hey.” He looks up at Hamish, who jerks his head for him to come closer. “We need to talk to Greybeard and Tundra and find out exactly what’s going on.”

“How?”

“Same way Gabrielle does with Midnight.”

Oh great. Meditating. 

The thing about meditating is Randall’s tried. A lot. Remember that whole thing earlier about how he’s incapable of sitting still? Meditating was attempt number one at settling down. And when he circled back to it after trying other stuff, it was attempt number … fifty-seven, maybe? He either falls asleep or he gets anxious thinking about everything else he needs to be doing. He’s tried apps, YouTube, podcasts. None of it works. He never feels relaxed or centered or ready to conquer the day. He just feels more jittery. 

“Randall, relax,” Hamish says and gently grabs him by the back of his neck. “You look like I just told you you’re taking the MCAT first thing in the morning.”

He would rather take the MCAT in the morning. “I can’t just sit on the floor and light some candles and focus on breathing to shut off my brain, Hamish.”

“Then don’t do that.”

“What else is there? I can’t go for a run or the gym, we’re under house arrest.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Hey, maybe you could-”

“‘Fuck your brains out’, yeah I knew that one was coming.”

“Ideally we’d-”

“‘Both be coming,’” Hamish says around a sigh. “Dammit, twice in a row…”

“Hamish?”

“Yeah?”

“Just because Greybeard and Tundra were bonded the whole time, it doesn’t mean you and Cassie didn’t love each other.” 

“I know,” Hamish murmurs. “Just like how Tundra bonding with Greybeard isn’t why I love you.”

Randall smiles. “I know.” 

On that note, they head back upstairs to where the group is scattered around the living room. Vera is still settling in and Randall is struck by how strange it is to see Vera Stone, crisp white button up and tight burgundy pencil skirt and scarily pointy black ankle boots, being swallowed by their squishy armchair.

She takes one look at Randall, specifically the marks on his neck, and snorts. “To think that I was worried that I was too hard on you earlier.”

“No, you were completely justified in your assessment of the situation,” Hamish says, hand firmly pressed against the small of Randall’s back. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She nods. "Sure. Surprise me."

Randall accompanies him to the bar, asking Vera as they pass, “Did you do the thing with the eyeball?”

She gives him a look that leads him to believe if he wasn’t Hamish’s boyfriend, she would gladly turn him into a toad and turns to Jack. “Do you remember when I said letting you into the Order was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life?”

“Several times.”

“I take it back. Letting _him_ into the Order was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.”

“I never wanted to sign the contract,” Randall reminds her, watching Hamish assemble seemingly random bottles. “That was your chance to let me walk and you blew it.”

“Add it to the list of failures that keep me up at night,” she says flatly. “Yes, we did ‘the eyeball thing,’ and all it showed was your wolves attacking him.”

“As Alpha?”

“It only showed what he saw, not what he was. Olivia said John surprised her in her office and they went into the woods to have a romantic moment when you attacked them.”

Hamish pours something dark red - it smells like cherries and spices - into the shaker. “Let me guess, everyone bought it?”

“She was convincing,” Vera admits begrudgingly. “So, that is problem number one. Problem number two is that Praxis doesn’t have the hide locker.”

Randall looks over sharply. “They lost it?”

“We’re assuming they ever had it.”

“They did,” Alyssa says firmly. “I saw it myself two months ago.”

“Or you saw the footstool someone enchanted to look like the hide locker.” 

“The hide was in there,” she insists. “I checked. She must have stolen it.”

“We checked her house top to bottom, it’s not there.”

Of course it’s not. Randall is getting very, very tired of being two steps behind Travenner. “What about her office?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? We checked everywhere she has access to, there's no sign of that locker.”

“Fine. Has anyone from Praxis gone missing recently?”

“How would they know?” Vera cries. “They’re still letting anyone and everyone wander in off the street.”

“They’re playing by the rules you set for them,” he reminds her, holding a hand up for Alyssa to chill, “that’s all we can ask of them for now.”

“Besides not losing a werewolf hide,” she mumbles.

Alyssa rolls her eyes and says to Randall, “I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks,” Randall runs his hand over his hair. “So, is there a problem number three?”

Vera shrugs. “That depends on if you found anything that explains why you and Hamish aren’t healing or why you’re suddenly convinced that poison doesn’t work.”

Right. She talked to Hamish. Great. 

“I see you found time to add a few new marks to the collection. How interesting!”

There are so many snappy retorts he wants to fire back - “Well, we thought my dick might be the cure, so…”, or “You’ve seen him naked, can you blame me?”, or “Hey, did he ever pin your arms down and make you tell him what to do? Make you beg? Tell you you’re the best thing in his life and you deserve the world? No? Damn, sucks to be you” - but because he is practically a mature adult (and a little scared of Vera), he forces himself to say nothing more than, “It’s a werewolf thing.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Randall groans, “Hamish has been a werewolf for almost nine years, I’ve been a werewolf for three, and the longer you wear the hide, the more in touch you get with your inner wolf, so if we get turned on from marking each other up, it’s got nothing to do with the poison and everything to do with us embracing our werewolfishness.” 

Gabrielle gives him a thumbs up over Vera’s shoulder. 

“That is … great information,” Vera says in a tone that suggests it really isn’t, “but what does that have to do with not healing?”

“... nothing.” Randal rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “We didn’t, uh, figure that part out yet. But it looks like Tundra and Greybeard bonded and that’s why the poison didn’t work, so at least that part's settled."

Vera’s eyebrows shoot up. “Bonded as in a soul bond?”

“We don’t know yet,” Hamish says quickly, “but it might be similar.” 

“Do you know how dangerous a soul bond is?”

“Like I said, we don’t-”

“Like hell you don’t,” she snaps. 

“Ver-Magus, this is a good thing,” Randall breaks in. “They already did it and the bond can’t break, so the poison can’t hurt us. Travenner’s got nothing.”

“Demon magic can break a soul bond, Mr. Carpio.”

Lightning streaks across the sky outside the window. Randall feels everyone’s eyes land on him and tries not to squirm.

“If your wolves really were bonded before yesterday, they probably aren’t anymore.” Vera’s face softens fractionally. “A soul bond requires a blood pact. I’ll let you connect the dots on that one, but I wouldn’t be so sure your foreplay is just that.”

Randall isn’t so sure either anymore. If Tundra and Greybeard are trying to fix their bond, and it _is_ a soul bond… Do they think Randall and Hamish are literal soulmates? Because that’s adorable and all, but they've only been dating for two days. Granted, the feelings were there a lot longer and they’re in love and already basically committed to this thing for the long haul, and two days is pretty long in Knight years, and … it could kill them both. Will kill them. Almost certainly. 

Randall spent all this time worrying about losing the hides and now the hides might kill them. 

But Greybeard wouldn’t… if they die, he and Tundra go back into their boxes. It could be months, years, decades even before they find a new champion. 

Unless… unless whatever happens to them when they get severed is that much worse. If it turns them into whatever monster Alpha became… 

A chilled glass nudges his hand.

He glances up at Hamish, who watches him carefully and says, “Tell me if that’s any good.”

The fact that he trusts Randall to judge a cocktail almost makes his stomach swoop as much as the fact that Hamish is clearly trying to distract him from the problem at hand. 

He takes a drink - tart and sweet and citrusy, just the slightest bit smokey and warm. “It’s good. What is it?”

“A riff on a Blood and Sand,” he replies as he pours out a few more. “I never cared for it, but the name’s pretty cool.”

Randall manages to laugh, shaking his head. 

“You OK?”

“Not really,” he admits. “The werewolf-married thing took a dark turn.”

“That can’t be what they’re doing,” Hamish murmurs. “They wouldn’t kill us just to bond. They’re not self-serving.”

Randall glances over his shoulder to make sure their friends are still arguing about soul bonds and werewolf marriage and whatever else they’re talking about, and leans over the bar to kiss him, whispering against his lips, “Greybeard and I killed Kepler to get Lilith back. That was pretty self-serving.”

“No it wasn’t.” Randall should probably be more surprised that Hamish apparently knew the whole time. Or shouldn’t be, maybe, considering he probably smelled Kepler the second Nicole brought out the blood for the ritual. He goes on under his breath, “You rescued a fellow Knight. And Kepler was a threat to Vera, which means she was a threat to the Order, which we-

“Hamish, I love you, but fuck the Order.” He steals another look towards the group. Vera glances over but looks away as he leans in to kiss Hamish again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t.” He presses one last kiss to Randall’s lips and goes back to bartending. “Don’t ever bring up Kepler again unless it’s just us.”

Randall nods and watches Hamish dish out cocktails to the group. It makes enough of a lull in conversation for Randall to ask Vera, “Is there any way to tell what kind of bond it is and if it’s broken?”

“Not that I know of,” she replies. “Usually it works and you’re invincible, or it doesn’t and you’re dying. Your situation is… unique, but so what else is new?”

“It could work in their favor, right?” Nicole says quickly. “Werewolves already have more power and strength and, and, and heal faster. Maybe it makes the bond stronger, too.”

“Maybe,” Vera concedes. Almost kindly. You know you’re in deep shit when Vera drops the Ice Queen routine. “I’ll do some digging and see what I can find about variations on soul bonds.”

“What’s going to happen with Travenner?” Jack asks as he takes a sip. "Oh, man, this is good."

Hamish tips his drink - lime and soda water - toward Jack. 

“Everyone involved in today’s little incident will be questioned tomorrow at the Temple, which should take care of all of this once and for all. Like it would have been tonight if you’d all just listened to me for once.”

“And Alpha’s locker?” Hamish prompts. "What's the plan about that?"

“She’ll tell us where it is."

Randall shakes his head. “No way. She'll just lie her way out of it."

“Telling the truth will be in her best interest, that I can assure you. But the same goes for all of you, so for the love of god, do _not_ do anything between now and tomorrow that will put me in a position where I have to torture you.”

Yikes. 

“Magus, with all due respect,” Gabrielle says carefully, “I don’t think we should wait until tomorrow.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, but Jenny thinks her father was killed in an accident and her mother has nothing to do with it. Call it a personal weakness, but I'd like to preserve that for one more night." She drains her glass. “We have eyes on her house. She won’t go anywhere.”

“They could do the teleporting thing and you’d never know it,” Randall mumbles. 

Vera gives him an odd look. “Teleporting?”

“Randall,” Alyssa says gently, “it’s a time manipulation spell. There’s no such thing as teleportation.”

Figures… at least Jack and Hamish look bummed, too. 

Vera sets her glass on the table. “I have to get back. Mr. Carpio, walk me out.”

That is… why does she want him? He looks questioningly at Hamish, but he looks just as surprised as he is.

Randall follows Vera out onto the porch, closing the door behind them. “Uh, thanks for coming by…?”

“I want to make something very clear to you,” she says, voice barely audible over the rain pounding against the roof. “I have all the faith in the world in you and Hamish. There is no doubt in my mind that you love each other, no matter what your overgrown furballs have to do with it. A soul bond is not an accurate reflection of how much two people care about each other.”

He hugs his sweatshirt tighter around him, even though it’s not that cold anymore. “Then why wouldn’t it work?”

“Most people who seek a soul bond do it for the wrong reasons. Terminal illness. Going away to war. Saving your werewolf boyfriend from getting his hide severed. It sounds like love, but really it’s an act of desperation.”

“But you said-”

“The moment I knew you and Hamish were in love with you was right after I got my magic back. We’d spent around twenty-seven hours negotiating with Praxis and it wasn’t going anywhere, so we took a break. I went to my office and expected the two of you to follow me so we could regroup, but instead, you dragged him to the lounge area, pulled two chairs together and made him watch something on your phone.” 

“‘Sad Cat Diary,’” Randall remembers immediately. “I told him we should do ‘Sad Werewolf Diary’ and make Jack act it out.”

“He’d be good at it. Anyway, while you were planning your directorial debut, you kept stealing little looks at each other and laughing and it was like you were in your own little world. I hated to break it up.” She adjusts her grip on her bag and looks at him. "You and Hamish... your lives will never be peaceful or easy. Hang onto those little moments. I promise you there's just as much love in them as there is in giving him a piece of your soul."

He can't help smiling. "So, the incantation isn’t something dumb like, ‘I love you’ that we’re going to say all the time and accidentally set it off, right?”

“Of course not, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you what it is."

Good. He doesn’t want to know. 

“Take the night off,” Vera says as she pulls out her car keys. “Be young and in love and try not to maim each other too badly.” 

Huh. Looks like Vera's team Ramish all the way.

She’s halfway to her car before he shakes himself and says, “Hey, Vera?”

She turns, mouth open to no doubt remind him they’re not equals and he’s not supposed to address her as such, but he yells over whatever she’s about to say, “Let us know when you get back, OK?”

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile as she nods. 

He waits until her car disappears up the driveway to go back inside. Everyone’s glasses are full again, and Hamish is back at the bar. 

Lilith twists around in her chair to grab Randall's hand "What did she say?"

“Nothing much,” he says. “Just to take the night off and don’t do anything stupid between now and tomorrow.”

She grins up at him. “Does that mean you and Hamish will finally answer our questions?”

“Only if Jack and Alyssa move so we can sit on the couch, and you guys make your own drinks for the rest of the night.”

Alyssa jumps up and drags Jack to the armchair so fast he nearly faceplants into the coffee table. Then Gabrielle hops up and they make a beeline to the bar, shooing Hamish out of the way. 

“Not that I don’t love this,” Hamish says as he settles into the corner of the couch, pulling Randall down into the space between his legs and wrapping his arms around him, "but I really don’t mind making drinks.”

“He’s being clingy and selfish,” Lilith says, stretching her arms overhead. “I’m getting popcorn. Anyone else want anything?”

“Grab those cookies we got from the market,” Nicole says. “Actually, wait, I’m coming, too.”

Just like old times. Sort of.

Hamish rests his chin on Randall's shoulder. “Did she say anything else?”

“Basically that she ships us.” Randall yanks the blanket off the top of the couch to throw it over them. “And not to read too far into the soul bond thing.”

Alyssa comes back from the bar and points at them. “That is adorable but no napping until you answer our questions.”

Randall considers pointing out that he already slept half the day away and he has to stay awake so he can meditate once they’re done here, but he just rolls his eyes.

Gabrielle carries over a tray of drinks, just as Lilith and Nicole return with their arms full of snacks. Both the drinks and the food get deposited on the table and the girls take their respective seats in near perfect unison, exchanging a look. Randall knows that look. That’s the look they get when they’re up to something. Last time they had that look, he left to workout and when he came back to find them all tipsy and about to order three hundred dollars worth of Mexican takeout. Then they binged _America’s Next Top Model_ and made Randall document their attempts to recreate the photoshoots. OK, so it was actually hilarious and he got to eat the leftover food with Jack and Hamish on the porch after they all passed out, but still. The look is not a good look.

Gabrielle sits back in her chair - Hamish’s chair, but hers for the moment - and steeples her fingers. “Here is what we know so far: you fuck a lot, Randall is loud, you’re are kinky enough to bite and scratch the shit out of each other, and Hamish topped last night.” 

“How do you know that?” Randall asks, genuinely interested because he hasn’t said a word and he knows Hamish didn’t.

“How else would you have been able to scratch all the way down his back?” 

“He could have-”

“But he didn’t,” Gabrielle says with finality. “Anyway, we picked five questions that should win someone a lot of money.”

“You only get three,” Hamish points out. 

“He used our shower, we want two more.”

“One more,” he shoots back. “He wouldn’t have had to use it if Alyssa wasn’t in our shower with Jack.”

“Hamish,” Gabrielle gasps. “Alyssa could have been killed today. Would you really hold a moment of intimacy with the love of her life after narrowly escaping a brutal, vicious death against her?”

Alyssa pouts and wilts dramatically against Jack’s side. 

Oh, they’re good. This is… way more intense than Randall thought it was going to be. It’s exactly the kind of cat and mouse game Hamish loves and Gabrielle is probably the only person who could give him a run for his money. 

And, honestly? Randall has absolutely no problem answering any of their questions. If they handed him a list and asked him to explain, in great detail, every single thing he and Hamish have done so far, he’d do it. But it’s going to be much, much more fun to let Hamish do his thing. 

Jack leans over and whispers, “Do you have a kink for scary people?”

He scoffs. “Hamish isn’t scary.”

“He grabbed me by my throat and shoved me against a wall the second time I met him. Granted, you’re probably into that.”

Maybe. “He wears cardigans.”

“He turned Kyle into a werewolf so his own friends would kill him.”

“His greatest fear is ventriloquist dummies.” 

“It _was_ ,” Jack says. (If Randall smiles, it’s only because he’s thinking about how dumb it is to be scared to death of ventriloquist dummies.) “And that just means he had no real fears, which makes him scarier. And don’t even get me started on Gabrielle and Lilith.”

“Technically I never-”

“AHEM!”

Randall pretends to zip his lips.

“As I was saying,” she shoots lasers out of her eyes at him, “five questions total. Both of you have to answer or agree on a single answer.”

Hamish considers the proposal for a moment. “We still get to veto questions?”

She nods. 

He glances at Randall. “Good?”

Randall nods. “But you have to pick what we veto because I don’t give a shit if they know what we do.”

“Fair enough.” He turns back to Gabrielle. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Describe the general sex vibe without says it’s the best you’ve ever had, ‘good,’ ‘intense,’ ‘romantic,’ ‘hot,’ ‘passionate,’ or - Randall, this one is for you - ‘sexy.’”

“That is... not what I was going to say!” Except it totally was. Dammit. OK, how to describe sex with Hamish… “It’s a lot of fun.”

“Goddamnit, Randall!” Lilith yells. 

“What? Fun is a vibe and it wasn’t on the list.”

“I agree with that,” Hamish adds with a grin. “Next question.”

Frustration flits across Gabrielle’s face briefly before she moves on in a clipped tone, “Fine. What’s the hottest thing that’s happened so far?”

No condom. Pinning his hands down. The biting. Making him ask for what he wants. Literally anything that comes out of Hamish’s mouth when they’re having or about to have sex. When he licked the blood out of his mouth earlier. “Can I say everything?”

“Nope,” she says, eyes glowing with excitement.

Randall gives Hamish a minute to veto and when he doesn’t, he says, “You go first.”

“I’m still thinking,” Hamish says. 

Jack mumbles under his breath, “This is so wrong…”

“Hush, we might be rich when this is over,” Lilith snaps at him, and then to Hamish and Randall, “Come _on_ , just pick something!”

“He wouldn’t let me use my hands earlier,” Randall offers. 

The subsequent squealing hits an octave that possibly only dolphins can hear. And werewolves, unfortunately, making Randall wince as Hamish whispers into his ear, “You liked that, huh?”

“Like you couldn’t tell.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Shut up and answer the question.”

“I will when they stop screaming. Are you sure there’s nothing you don’t want me to say?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“OK, OK, OK!” Nicole waves her hands. “Hamish. Your answer, please.”

Hamish hums thoughtfully, probably giving Randall one last chance to give him something not to say, and says, “He told me to bite him like that.”  
  


For some reason hearing Hamish say it out loud, even though he was just thinking about it, makes him blush fifty times harder, yeah, he is on fire, so it’s a good thing he’s not looking at anyone. And they’re screaming again. And why the hell did he think this was a good idea, again? Oh, yeah, because he’s a self-sacrificing idiot even when his privacy is the only thing on the line. 

“ _That’s_ what you were screaming about earlier?” Alyssa cries, kicking her feet in excitement. “Oh my god, that is so much better and worse than everything I thought was happening!”

“I told you!” Gabrielle shouts over everyone. “I told you it was them and not the wolves!”

Jack grabs a bag of pretzels off the table and says over everyone else, “Did I have Randall down for being bossy?”

“No, but I did,” Lilith says excitedly, marking something on her phone. “OK, next question. Randall, what _did_ you do to Hamish to make him make that noise?”

“Laughing?” Hamish asks innocently. “Obviously he said something stupid and hilarious. Next question.”

“Shut up, Hamish!" Nicole snaps, grinning. “Randall, tell the truth!”

Randall glances over his shoulder at Hamish, who just nods for him to go ahead, and says, “I fucked him."

“Holy shit, I just won a hundred dollars!” Alyssa screams.

“Wait!” Gabrielle says sharply. “You switch, right?”

“Guys, we’ve only-”

“Yes,” Hamish answers. 

All of them cheer and clink their glasses together. Randall assumes they all just won something, but he’s still not sure he understands how anyone wins at this game.

  
  
He nudges Jack and asks, “Do you know if you’ve won anything yet?”

“I think they gave me the least likely options, so probably not.”

He pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sure Alyssa will buy you something nice.”

“And they only have one question left,” Hamish adds, "so you won’t have to endure this torture much longer.”

Gabrielle simmers down the fastest and says, “That shouldn’t count, but in the spirit of sportsmanship and preserving Jack’s innocence, we’ll let it go. The last question is, who runs the show?”

Randall points at Hamish immediately. 

“That’s true,” Hamish says, batting Randall’s finger out of his face, “which is funny because you _are_ bossy.”

“He can be bossy and submissive at the same time,” Gabrielle says, taking a dainty sip of her drink. “It’s called being bratty.”

“No,” Randall snaps, “it’s called being vocal about what I like and he either gives it to me or he-”

Hamish whispers into his ear, “I told you she’d trick you into talking.”

“- makes me… crap, never mind.”

“No, please, keep going, Randall. What does he make you do?”

“No, you weirdos, we answered your questions! Now someone pick a movie so I can focus on relaxing enough to have a chat with Greybeard about his relationship status and what it means for me and Hamish.”

Lilith’s hand darts out and snatches the remote off the table before anyone else can blink. Then she settles into the armchair with Nicole. “ _Howl’s Moving Castle_?”

Gabrielle groans. “Didn’t we just-”

A huge clap of thunder and bright flash of lightning drowns out whatever she was about to say. 

“It wasn’t supposed to storm today,” Hamish mumbles, jostling Randall as he looks over his shoulder out the window. “We might lose power if it keeps up like this.”

Randall shrugs. “We’ve got candles and power-”

The rain stops immediately. 

“- banks…” 

He sits up and looks outside. Perfectly sunny and clear. If you didn’t see the water still dripping down the windows or hear the _puh-lop, puh-lop_ as it drips onto the porch, you’d never know it was raining at all. 

He turns back to make sure everyone’s seeing this and notices Lilith and Nicole are surprisingly unaffected by these events. Lilith just eats her popcorn and Nicole’s eyes are glued to the screen as the movie starts.

“Hey, Lil?”

“Yeah?”

“Your demon powers wouldn’t happen to make you an _X-men_ character, would they?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says without looking away from the TV. “But if they did, I would say they make me more like Thor.”

Nicole reaches into the popcorn bowl. “Thor always was my favorite Avenger.”

OK, apparently they’re not talking about this, which is fine. Totally fine. Randall doesn’t have a million questions. Looking around, no one else has anyone questions either. They’re all just staring at the screen and obviously not stunned. Gabrielle doesn’t glance over at Lilith. Alyssa doesn’t pat her knee supportively. Jack doesn’t open his mouth and then remember he values his life and decides against it. Nope, all good here. Nothing to see. Nothing to ask about. 

Hamish clears his throat. “Lilith?”

“What?”

  
“If your demon power _was_ something involving thunder and lightning, that would be really fucking awesome and we would be very excited for you. Just… hypothetically.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Hamish.” 

Randall can’t stop himself, he has to know, “So are you only like Thor or could you also be like Elsa?”

Lilith throws more popcorn at him.


	11. In which Greybeard lightly trolls Randall and things are not as bad as they seem, until they are...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi, hi!
> 
> So... remember that deadline I gave myself? Welllllllllllllllllllll, we're not done. BUT I have two chapters for you, so we'll call it even, right? :D
> 
> Hugs and best wishes to everyone!

After three and a half movies, eight bags of popcorn, one box of cookies, two pints of ice cream, four bags of chips, and unquantifiable amounts of random leftovers, every one but Randall and Hamish is asleep. Lilith barely made it to the end of the first movie before Jack mouthed “We lost Kilith” and he looked over to find, yepp, she was fast asleep on the loveseat. Then Gabrielle turned into a blanket burrito about halfway through the second movie, mumbling something about needing to take off her make-up - shit, was Randall supposed to wake her up for that? Oops. -, and then Alyssa curled up against Jack and passed out not longer after. Then Nicole fell asleep at the other end of the loveseat, and it was around the start of movie number three when Randall looked over to see Jack using Alyssa’s head as a pillow - that’s going to be one hell of a neck cramp - so he glanced over his shoulder at Hamish, who shrugged and slid out from behind him, carefully stacking plates and empty boxes to take back to the kitchen. 

While he tidies up, Randall gingerly takes the remote out of Alyssa’s hand and turns off the TV with a soft _blumph_. He freezes, waiting for someone to wake up but Lilith’s the only one to twitch her nose before nestling deeper into the loveseat. 

Smiling, he drapes the blanket he and Hamish had been using over her and Nicole and picks up a few more glasses. 

Hamish looks up from rinsing plates in the sink and whispers, “It’s barely ten, I can’t believe they’re sleeping already.”

“It’s been a long, weird day,” Randall points out as he bumps him out of the way to rinse off the stuff he just brought in. “Should we wake them up so they can go to their rooms?”

Hamish stares at him. 

“I know, they’re adorable and they look so peaceful, but none of them can be comfortable sleeping like that.”

Just more staring. 

“You think they’ll be warm enough down here? You know, the number of people living in this house doubled since last year, we should get more blankets.”

Little bit of a head tilt but still staring. 

“What?”

“I just got the ‘Den Parent’ thing from earlier,” he says with a slow grin. 

“Seriously? Just now? I made a freaking chore chart, Hamish, which, by the way, you are totally slacking on.”

Hamish’s arm snakes around his waist and his chest presses against Randall’s back. “What was I supposed to be doing?”

“Taking the trash and recycling out,” Randall informs him, shivering pleasantly when Hamish kisses over the bite on his neck. “It’s the easiest thing and takes the least amount of effort, and you still haven’t done it in … ever.”

“Who got stuck vacuuming?” he asks, taking the glass Randall was cleaning out of his hand and turning off the faucet. 

“It rotates,” he replies as Hamish dries both of their hands off. “Same with dusting and mopping and all the big stuff.”

“How many of those have I missed?”

“We voted to exempt you since you were running the Order.”

“I was not running-”

“You were.”

“I was not.”

“Were, too!”

“Was not!”

He tries to elbow Hamish but he catches his arm, spins him around, and kisses him. And, look, it was a smooth move - stomaching swooping? Check! Fluttery feeling in his chest? For sure! Smiling all dumb and sappy? You bet! -, but the way he smirks after and licks his lips, that is just too smug for Randall. This man must be taken down a notch. For the good of humanity. 

“Hamish?”

  
“Yeah, baby?”

Ugh. Make that two notches.

Randall reaches down and lightly kneads Hamish’s dick through his jeans. “Can I blow you?”

Oh, if only he had his phone handy so he could take a photo because he can practically see the sparks from his brain going into overdrive as he processes the question. 

Yeah, that’s better...

Biting back a smirk of his own, he presses his mouth to Hamish’s ear and murmurs, “Want me to say please?”

And, because Randall’s going for gold, just as Hamish is about to voice what would have undoubtedly been an articulate and intelligent response, he licks along the shell of his ear and bites down on his earlobe. Whatever Hamish was about to say evaporates into a shuddery, breathed out, “Randall…”

“Hmm?” His fingers hover over the button on Hamish’s jeans. “Want me to stop?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Hamish sighs, “if you blow me, I’ll want to reciprocate. And if I do that here, you’re going to wake everyone up, so we’ll have to go upstairs. And the second I get you in bed, I’ll blow you, sure, but then I’ll want to have sex with you, too, and then we will. And then we’ll snuggle and make out and probably have sex again and then we’ll fall asleep.”

“Which part of that is a problem?”

“The part where we wind up fucking all night instead of figuring out what’s going on with Greybeard and Tundra and wake everyone up in the process.”

How… how did this backfire so quickly?

Randall groans - he’s still all up on Hamish so it makes him shudder, he’ll count that as a small victory - and slides his arms around his neck. “You started it.”

“Did I?”

“Mhmm,” he hums against Hamish’s lips.

Hamish murmurs, “We really don’t have time for this,” between the parting of their lips, even as his fingers dig into Randall’s hips. “But let’s revisit the idea when we’re done.”

That sounds promising, but there’s a forty-three percent chance that whatever they find out won’t lead to celebratory blow jobs and beyond. 

Still, Hamish is right, so he reluctantly sets that thought aside. But only after he kisses his cheek. And nuzzles along his jaw. And -

Hamish takes a step back, flushed and grinning. “ _Later_ , Randall.”

“OK, OK,” Randall laughs. “I’ll stop, I promise. Just come back for a sec.”

He gives him a look that says he strongly suspects this is a trap, but Randall really just wants to hold onto him a little longer. Honest. He has no idea what Tundra and Greybeard are doing, and torturing Travenner until she confesses sounds way too easy. And Alpha’s still out there somewhere. Randall just wants to soak it up while they can. 

Once he’s close enough, Randall wraps his arms around Hamish and melts against him, smiling when he feels him hug back. He could easily stay like this all night, warm and snug with long fingers stroking up and down his back. Safely tucked away in their kitchen, in their home with all of their friends safe and accounted for. He curls his fingers into the soft material of his sweater, like if he can just keep him here in for a little longer, maybe they can wait everything out. He can keep Hamish safe if he just holds him here a little longer. Nothing else will matter, not even the fact that their alter egos might be scapegoating them. 

No offense, Greybeard. Not that he seems to care. He’s pretty content, probably because if Hamish is holding Randall, that means by extension Tundra is snuggling the shit out of Greybeard. Maybe if Randall promises to never ever leave Hamish’s side, then Greybeard’s never really leaving Tundra’s side, they won’t keep trying to make them bond and then they won’t die. That sounds good, right? It sounds pretty awesome to Randall. 

Nothing. Just a relaxed, happy werewolf. 

  
At least if he’s happy, he’s not going to possess Randall and force him to try a soul bond that will probably kill him. To be completely honest, running into the office earlier, the way it felt when he changed back, how much it hurt. He can’t blame Greybeard for trying to avoid that for Tundra. For not wanting him to go rogue like Alpha. 

Is it any different from what Randall is trying to do for Hamish? 

But why should saving Tundra come at the cost of losing Hamish?

“Randall?” He glances up and finds Hamish looking at him closely, brow knit with concern. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong is Hamish said they were time bombs and Randall finally hears them ticking, but that’s not what he says. He doesn’t say anything, he just shakes his head and lets Hamish fold him into his arms. Lets his head rest against Hamish’s shoulder, lets Hamish whisper into his ear, “Tomorrow morning, we are going to the Temple. Travenner is going to admit everything. You are going to kill her, we are going to find Alpha’s hide locker, and this whole thing will be over. And then I’ll find that teleportation spell and take you to Hawaii.”

“They said it’s not real.”

“I swear, I saw it somewhere.”

“ _You_ said it was too complicated and not worth it.”

“Well compared to buying a plane ticket, it is, but it would be way faster and less expensive.” 

Randall’s so used to factoring Greybeard into his plans that he immediately wonders if he would like the ocean, if they’d even get enough privacy to let the wolves out on the beach. They could probably find somewhere private, though. Somewhere secluded and quiet. Just the two of them for miles and miles. They could sleep in as late as they want and laze around in the sun and the water, and once night falls, they could wolf out and… honestly, who the hell knows what werewolves would do on a beach?

“Where would you want to go?” Randall asks quietly.

“Portugal.”

“Let’s go there first. We’ll … we can… I don’t know anything about Portugal.”

“Oh, it’s stunning. Castles, beaches, churches, monasteries… lots of places to explore, you’ll love it.”

“Let’s do it.” Randall hugs him tighter. “What if it _is_ a soul bond?”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Same way you know the poison didn’t work,” he says simply, pulling Randall out the kitchen and up the stairs, and goes on more quietly, “It doesn’t add up. They can’t do it without champions, and if it kills the champions, the bond can’t possibly work.”

He lets himself be guided into Hamish’s bedroom and sits down on his bed. “Did we lock everything up for the night?”

  
Hamish waves a hand. The front and back doors softly click as the locks turn.

“What about-”

“Vera would have said if the spells weren’t functioning.”

She wouldn’t have just said, she probably would have chewed them out for not noticing, but good enough. 

“Yeah, OK, let’s do this. Should we-”

Hamish stretches out on his back, using Randall’s thigh for a pillow.

“- sit on the floor…?”

He waves his hand again and the door closes softly. 

“What are you doing?”

“Relaxing,” Hamish says simply, reaching up for one of Randall’s hands and repositioning it in his hair. “You mind?”

“No, but won’t this make -” 

“Shh.”

Randall is so confused. Is he not supposed to be meditating? Are they taking turns? Is Hamish planning to just go to sleep so he won’t distract him? Because Hamish _is_ his biggest distraction these days, in a good way, but still. Totally distracting. Like right now, looking all zen and cozy and, has Randall mentioned how soft Hamish’s hair is? Oh, well, it bears repeating. His hair is so, so soft. 

They should have grabbed their phones, too, he realizes, but he’s not about to move. No jostling a resting Hamish. That’s a rule Randall just made up. No moving except to comb his fingers through his hair while he watches the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Not even if he thinks Hamish has fallen asleep and isn’t supposed to be sleeping, they’re supposed to be chatting with Greybeard and Tundra.

Randall lets his own eyes close, leaning back against the headboard, and focuses on how easily Hamish’s hair slips between his fingers. 

Tundra’s first champion had soft hair, too. Longer. It _used to get in his eyes but he never wanted to cut it. My champion didn’t want him to, either, but she did jokingly offer to braid it for him. She braided her sisters’ hair all the time. I still remember how to do it. If you sat on the couch behind Midnight’s champion, behind Gabrielle, and she sat on the floor, I could show you._

Huh. Gabrielle never braids her hair. 

_She might not know how. My first champion had four sisters and only two of them could braid their own hair. I wonder what happened to them..._

Wait.

That is… not Randall’s voice in his own head. 

OK, be cool, don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t - “Tundra’s _first_ champion? This has been a thing since the beginning?”

_It was always the two of us. We were pack before we were Knights. Our champions varied - ages, genders, origins, ethnicities, trades and jobs and passions - just like the songs on you blast into our eardrums when you can’t stand the silence. The tempo changed, the mood, the way we danced if we danced at all, but still. It was always us._

If Hamish is having a similar discussion with Tundra, he’s never coming back. There are way too many tidbits of information for him to dig up. It’s… it’s pretty wild, actually. 

_The last time my champion fell in love with his was… the twenties._

Randall gets a flash of a memory that doesn’t belong to him - hands that aren’t Hamish’s, strong and calloused, gripping a waist too slender to be Randall’s and spinning him, no _her_ , around as a song crackles in the background. Laughing and laughing and...

_It didn’t last long, but it was a great time while it did._

“That was a hundred years ago.”

_Not so long for us._

_It's hard enough to find good champions in the first place, even harder to find champions who might be compatible with Tundra’s. We didn’t wait for them. We took the oath, same as you. We’re together and we’re safe, that’s what mattered._

“Greybeard, that’s depressing as shit.”

_There are a lot of ways to love someone. You didn’t always love Hamish as you love him now._

And now he can’t love him any other way. “Apparently you saw that coming before I did.”

_You have an endless capacity for love. Those feelings were there before you knew how to name them, but I did not know. I just felt it first._

“Good news for you and Tundra, huh?”

_The best._

_We rarely get the chance to be as close as you and Hamish were even in the beginning. This is all a very pleasant surprise. Especially since you’re both so keen on claiming each other. You were so! close! to fixing it on your own. If you would have just bitten him earlier..._

“What?”

_Next time you sink your claws into his skin and he bites you in return, pledge your life to his. Then he’ll scratch you, you’ll bite him, and he’ll vow the same._

“That’s it?” 

_Witches and warlocks conjure magic. We_ are _magic. Intent is enough. But if you would like something more complicated, I am sure I can think of something._

“It’s not a soul bond?”

_It is an exchange of souls to protect and hold your mate close to you. It is similar, but not the same._

“Will it kill us?”

_Of course not._

Randall doesn’t know whether to laugh at how unimpressed Greybeard sounds or cry with relief. 

_You are remarkably suspicious and jumpy lately._

“I never had this much to lose before,” Randall sighs. “I thought I was going to lose Hamish or my friends or you, and, and, oh my god, this is perfect. This is… this is great.”

The sensation of something warm and heavy falling across his shoulders like a blanket washes over him. 

_If Hamish is yours, then he is also mine. No harm will come to either of you. It will be no different from what you feel now, just stronger. You’ll be more connected._

Wait… “Oh my god, you _were_ going to possess me during sex!”

_I wouldn’t have had to, “I love you,” works as a vow. You said that plenty of times._

No he didn’t.

_You babbled the whole time he made love to you the first night. You are very talkative when you are in the throes of passion. Then again, you are very talkative all the time..._

This is worse than that time his dad walked in on him watching porn.

_I do so hope that happens again. It sounds terribly amusing._

Randall’s getting trolled by his own werewolf. What the hell is his life? 

”But Gabrielle said you’re not-”

_When you wear my skin, you do as I do. When I wear yours, apparently I spend a lot of time eating and running and reading and being ridiculous with my friends and being made love to and making love._

Most people would call that ‘the good life,’ but whatever. “So. How does this bond protect Hamish from getting severed?”

_The piece of your soul that you give is his shield, the piece you take is his anchor. Tundra has a shield but he lost an anchor, that is what you felt being ripped away from us earlier. Now I have an anchor but no shield._

“The shield won’t stop the poison?”

_It will not be enough without an anchor._

“Sort of like living, breathing hide lockers...”

_… a little, yes. We bond to our champions, too. Somewhere between a pack bond and a life mate, I suppose. Bound together by purpose more than anything, but bound all the same._

“What’s a pack bond?”

_A lesser version of a mating bond. All packs form it. Yours included. It’s enough to call them home but not enough to hold them here._

“What about the first time? With the Magus, why didn’t-”

_There was no first time. The Order used blood from her husband to make the poison when they should have taken it from the maid. I ripped myself out of her the moment her lips touched the cup and they were none the wiser._

“Dude, that is awesome!”

_No, ‘awesome’ would have been letting the poison fail. Then we wouldn’t be in our current situation._

_Don’t give this witch a chance to try it. Fix the bond, kill her and whoever helped her, and get rid of both of those books._

_  
_“Fix the bond. Go kill Travenner. Get rid of those books,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “Oh, and find Alpha’s locker.”

_I would not waste your effort. Alpha is … what did you call him earlier?_

“A giant bag of dicks?”

_Yes, that._

_When the Order chose Knights, it was not only to protect them from outsiders. It was to protect them from themselves. They selected those of us they knew they could not defeat. Too smart, too reckless, too independent, too powerful, too strong, too-_

“Brave,” Randall finishes for him. “You guys were their Suicide Squad.” 

_We still are._

_But they did not see our weaknesses, which is a blessing in most ways, but the greatest of Alpha’s were a complete and total lack of loyalty to anyone but himself and a pathological fear of weakness._

“He bailed after Sawyer completed the Vaede Maecum.”

Contempt boils at the base of Randall’s throat as Greybeard spits back, _He fled._

_He saw what the book did to Silverback, to arguably the best of us, and decided there was nothing left to defend, only an opponent to outrun. Or to defeat, if he found the means._

Sure sounds like a coward to Randall. “But I can’t let him bind to someone and keep coming after us. Or, and I hate myself for saying this, the Order.”

_Spoken like a true Knight._

“Thanks, buddy,” Randall says with a smile. “You need anything you need from me?”

_Practice your damn magic and stop punching punch walls_. 

“It was one time, dude, chill.”

_You should also ‘chill, dude.’_

_And steal every single moment you can with him. For both of us. I don’t care what you do. I just want to feel it._

He wonders if Tundra is romantic as Greybeard and that’s where Hamish comes up with all of that stuff. “I’m totally _steal_ ing that line.”

_It is a wonder you found anyone to bond with you at all..._

Before Randall can get too offended by that, he’s back in Hamish’s bedroom, hand still buried in Hamish’s hair - which is still so, so soft, in case you were wondering - but Hamish is awake and grinning up at him. 

“Holy shit, it worked!” 

“I know.”

“Did you-”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we’re not-”

“Nuh-uh.”

“All we have to do is what we were already going to do!”

“I told you so.”

And there’s that snark Randall loves so much. So, so, so, _so_ much. 

Hamish turns his head to kiss Randall’s wrist. “Hey, Randall?”

“Yeah, Hamish?”

Hamish pulls on his wrist until he can kiss the palm of his hand and then he holds it against his chest. “Will you werewolf-marry me?”

It’s a joke, Randall knows it’s a joke, but his heart still skips a beat hearing (most) of those words come out of Hamish’s mouth. And it’s way, way too soon to even think about marriage, but this is just as much of a commitment. No. Scratch that. This is more. And you can say Greybeard and Tundra are separate from Randall and Hamish, but this isn’t separate. This is for both of them. And this isn’t just a ring and a piece of paper and a joint checking account, this is a literal piece of each other’s souls. This is forever. 

He must be making The Face, because Hamish’s laugh softens to a barely there smile. He sits up, still holding Randall’s hand to the center of his chest, and kisses him, just a soft press of lips to his. 

“I promise,” he murmurs and kisses him again, just as soft, just as sweet, “we’ll do it the other way, too, one of these days.”

Randall feels himself smile before he realizes he’s doing it. “This way’s good for now.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Hamish kisses him, again and again, each one deeper and slower and harder than the last one. He lets Hamish lay him down on the bed, bringing his knees up to bracket his hips. Hamish’s hand strokes from his chest down to the hem of his shirt, slipping under to ghost over Randall’s stomach. His breath hitches at the press of claws against his skin and when they sink in with a sharp, burning pressure and drag down, no doubt leaving a trail of angry, bloody welts in, he gasps into Hamish’s mouth. 

Hamish pulls back just far enough to whisper, “Done,” and the claws retract but the fingers keep stroking up and down his side. 

Randall lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Where do you want me to…?”

“You pick,” he says in a rough voice - if he doesn’t fuck Randall after this, Randall will die - and drops a kiss to his forehead. 

Tempted as he is to make a real show out of picking the perfect spot, Randall opts for convenience and tugs the collar of Hamish’s sweater until the place where his neck meets his shoulder is exposed. As far as permanent werewolf-mating bites go, this is prime real estate. Depending on what Hamish wears, it’ll be ever so slightly visible - ‘What is that?’ people will wonder, people might even stare, people will _see it_ , it makes Randall light-headed with how much he _wants_ everyone to know - but it will still be theirs, just for them, they’ll be the only ones who know that it means. And his teeth lengthen as he mouths over the spot and then he bites down hard enough to taste blood and his brain screams _mineminemine_ as Hamish’s fingers dig into his hair, not pulling him off, holding him there as he licks away blood. 

Hamish murmurs, “I love you.”

He feels when it happens, a chill settling deep into his bones. Like the moment you throw open your door to step into the snow. The first crisp breeze of fall, the kind that has you burying your nose into your jacket and sighing with relief from a brutally hot summer. Cool sheets against your skin as you slide into bed after a hellish day. And then he tastes ice against his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He remembers the feeling of ice beneath his feet, being on thin ice, but something whispers to ke _ep going._ _Let the ice break, let the world swallow you whole. I will always call you home_.

He blinks a few times to clear the fog and grins. “I think I just heard Tundra."

“Really?”

“He’s intense!”

“Huh. I never thought so."

  
Whatever. Hamish is also intense so he probably just doesn’t notice it, but that’s fine. Randall digs it. 

Randall licks at the bites one more time - oh, Hamish _likes_ that just as much as he does, good to know! - and straightens up,. “Where should I-”

Something’s in the woods outside the Den. 

Not at their door, not yet, but it’s coming closer. 

Big. Moving fast. 

“You know how to do that time spell?”

Hamish shakes his head, growling in frustration. 

Mark his words, Randall is going to turn Alpha into a wolfskin rug. And he’s going to walk all over him every. Single. Day. For the rest of his life. 

Tundra has an anchor now. That’s the important thing, so he gently pushes Hamish back and sits up, licking blood off of his lips. “We owe Midnight an apology. _That_ guy is cannon fodder.”

“Too bad the cannon’s pointing at us,” he says grimly, hand pressed over the bite. “Better go wake up the kids.”

“Won’t all the stuff around the house hold him off?” Randall asks, even as he stands and leads the way back downstairs.

“It should.”

Yeah, ‘should’ isn’t good enough for Randall either. 

He reaches Jack first and grabs his shoulder, shaking him. “Hey, Jack in the Box! Up and at ‘em!”

Jack groans, peeling himself away from Alyssa. “Ow, shit, neck cramp...”

“Yeah, that sucks. Also,” Randall grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet, “we’ve got company.”

The pile of blankets that swallowed Gabrielle demands, “What kind of company?”

“Alpha,” Hamish answers, shaking Lilith and then Nicole. 

Alyssa sits up, rubbing her eyes, and then she notices Hamish’s neck. “Holy shit balls!”

“It’s fine,” Randall assures her, “just a bonding thing.”

Lilith jumps to her feet. “So it won’t kill you?”

“Supposedly, we’ll be exactly the same as we are right now,” Hamish tells her, “just a little stronger and more resilient. And we’ll heal again.”

“Nice,” she says approvingly.

“It would be if we actually got to finish it.” 

Randall focuses on the ripple of gravel on the driveway as Alpha approaches. Fuck, that guy’s fast. “OK, everyone who isn’t a werewolf, go find something heavy and pointy. Everyone else, outside, let’s go, chop, chop!”

Jack falls into step next to him, glancing at his blood-stained mouth. "Did you turn into a vampire at some point in the past two hours?"

If Randall makes a show of licking the blood off his teeth like a melted candy bar, it’s just to gross Jack out and not because he’s into it. (Werewolves, right?)

Lilith gags theatrically and grabs his arm to pull him along to the front porch.

“Hey, can you hit things with lightning?”

“In theory? Sure,” she says, glancing toward the woods. “In reality? Probably not.” 

“You should use Alpha as target practice.” He leads them down the porch steps and out towards the driveway, glancing in the direction Alpha should be coming from “Just try not to hit us or the house.”

He thinks she mumbles, “No promises,” but he’s more focused on the lack of Alpha’s scent and change in his footfalls. Too light, too clumsy to be a werewolf. Also, too many feet.

It’s not Travenner, the smell is wrong, but it is vaguely familiar. Where does he know that… smell… damnit. “It’s Angus and Selena.”

Hamish shakes his head. “This is a trick.”

“I knew they were in on it! I knew it, I-”

“Randall, they’re trying to lure us into attacking Alpha and once we’re done, they’ll conveniently find another dead person we supposedly killed for no reason.”

“Or they’re trying to distract us,” Randall fires back. “I’m going-”

Hamish grabs his elbow. “All we have to do is wait them out.”

“I know,” Randall says, softening at the worried look in Hamish’s eyes. “I’m just going to check around back. I’ll take Jack and Alyssa with me.” 

“I swear to god, Randall, if you go more than five feet away from this house-”

Randall gives him a quick kiss and whispers, “Werewolf wedding, two- no, I just changed my mind, _three_ dates, dinner, sleeping in past noon, sex on the kitchen island, sneaky late night couch sex, honeymoon on a beach in a mutually agreed upon location. Possibly in Portugal. 

“Also, dinner doesn’t count as a date. It’s its own separate thing.”

Sighing, Hamish lets go of his arm. “I am going to make my own list, and it is going to be so long with so many stipulations that you’ll be lucky if you have time to do even a single dangerous thing a month.”

Is that supposed to be a threat? Because that sounds awesome. Randall’s stoked. Can’t wait to see it, but as his boyfriend/werewolf-fiance/soon to be boss - woah, good thing they made it official before Hamish officially starts the Temple Magus gig -, Hamish should really know better than to think Randall (or any of them, including Hamish himself) can stay out of trouble for more than two weeks. Good luck, though.

Nicole bursts out of the house with a sword - good choice, but he’s pretty sure that’s his and pretty sure it’s been under his bed since they got Lilith back - and says to Lilith, “Aim the lightning away from the metal, please.”

“Damn, Nicole,” Lilith laughs, leaning back when Nicole waves the sword a little too close for comfort, “where did you find that thing?”

“In Randall’s room.”

Yepp, there it is. How many times does he have to tell these guys not to touch his stuff?

Alyssa comes out with two knives and grumbles, “How do you only have one sword in this house?”

  
“How many swords do the other houses have?” Nicole asks skeptically. 

“I’m just saying, it’s a little out of character for these guys.”

“We’re werewolves, we don’t need swords,” Gabrielle groans. “Are we going to go kill Selena and Angus or can I go back to sleep?”

“Only if they attack us first,” Hamish says, and then to Randall, “Check it out and come right back.”

“We will,” Randall assures him. “Everything’s going to be fine. Between you and Gabby, Dumb and Dumber will confess to everything in less than thirty seconds, we can call Vera to come get them, and Alpha can fuck off for all I care.”

“I’ll call her now,” Nicole says, passing the sword to Lilith, who accepts it with pure, unadulterated delight, so she can grab her phone. “Someone should record them talking, too. Just in case.”

Randall ruffles Hamish’s hair as he passes by. “We’ll be back before you know it, Hambo.”

“My list just got a little less fun for you,” he calls after him. 

Pssht. Challenge accepted. 

Randall winks at him over his shoulder and jerks his head for Jack and Alyssa to follow him to the back of the house. 

“Who do you think’s wearing Alpha?” Jack asks, arm draped around Alyssa protectively. 

“Anyone he thinks won’t get beat up on the playground,” Randall mumbles. “Greybeard said he’s always been like that.”

“Hey, what does his voice sound like?”

“Kind of like Liam Neeson,” he says, grinning. “I heard Tundra for, like, two seconds, too, and I think he’s Norwegian, but Jack, dude, it was so cool! It was like _The Lion King_ when Simba sees Mufasa in the water, except a million times less sad.”

“What else did he say?” Alyssa asks. 

“Mostly he just ‘yay’ed or ‘nay’ed our theories. I thought he’d be mad or disappointed or something since we fuck shit up all the time, but he was really cool. Just like, ‘Chill out, Randall, you’re an idiot but you’re doing great, please cuddle more so I can cuddle more,’ and stuff.”

“It’s weird how little you guys know about them,” Alyssa says thoughtfully. “You’d think they’d try harder to communicate with you guys or something.”

“They probably do and we just don’t listen,” Jack mumbles. 

...yeah, that’s probably true.

Everything looks in order once they reach the back of the house. Door is locked, magic is buzzing, windows are secured. Randall walks towards the other end and checks up along the side of the house. It’s all clear. And he can’t smell Alpha, or whoever he turned back into. 

It should be a relief, but Alpha can’t just evaporate into thin air, and Angus and Selena are small change. Alpha wouldn’t pick either of them. Plus they know how the werewolf thing works, there’s no way in hell they’d open a random chest in the middle of the room, _unless_ Travenner promised to sever them, but the only way they’d know Travenner is … 

Randall spins on his heel to head back to the front yard. “Alyssa, you’ve got Jenny Travenner’s number, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she sputters, hustling to catch up. “But why-”

“Call her and find out where she is.”

“Randall, her dad just-”

“Just do it, OK? Please.”

Jack falls into step next to him. “What’s going on?”

“She’s in on this.”

“Alyssa gave her truth ser-”

“She had the book and access to the Temple, Jack,” Randall snaps. “I’ll bet she-”

A phone buzzes from the front of the house.

Randall looks over his shoulder where Alyssa has her cell phone pressed to her ear, and back at Jack.

“Shit,” Jack breathes. “We got played.”

He rounds the corner expecting to see Jenny but it’s just Angus and Selena coming up the driveway.

Stepping right into their path, he shoves Angus so hard he falls on his ass and snarls, “Wrong way, asshole!”

  
He looks around for Jenny, but there’s no sign of her. There is, however, the smell of rotting leaves and earth. Decay and musk. 

Selena points accusingly at him. “You’re supposed to be in the house.”

“I told you they were up to something,” Angus hisses as he scrambles to his feet.

“Fuck off, douchecanoe,” Randall mumbles. Where’s it coming from? Where is he? “Where’s Jenny?”

“She wanted to leave flowers where you killed her dad,” Angus snaps. “We figured we’d check in to make sure you’re all behaving.”

Gravel crunches under Hamish’s footsteps as he approaches. “Randall-”

“It’s Jenny,” he says. “Jenny is Alpha.”

Selena’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Jenny is what?”

Hamish’s fingers curl around his arm and he coaxes him back toward the porch. “Oh, nothing. He’s been off lately. Anyway, as you can see, we’re all here and accounted for, so if you guys could just-”

“Hamish,” Selena gasps, “what happened to your neck?”

The smell’s getting stronger. Somewhere to the right, he thinks. Just behind the treeline, maybe. 

Greybeard snarls an affirmative. 

Randall says to Hamish, “He’s right over there.”

“I know. Let’s-”

Selena grabs Hamish. “Did he do that to you?”

“What?” Hamish laughs, throwing a slightly alarmed look to Randall. “Why would he-”

“Oh my god, Angus, look at Randall’s neck!”

“Bloodlust,” Angus spits, eyeing Randall with disgust. “She was right. They’ve gone feral.”

“Feral?” Randall looks at Hamish - now he’s just amused, that’s a relief, but also not helpful - and back at Angus and Selena. “Who said we’re feral?”

“Dr. Travenner,” Selena says, dropping Hamish’s wrist like it burned her. “Get the chains, quick!”

Randall shoulders his way between them and Hamish. “Remember when I wanted to kill them and you said they weren’t involved?”

“No, I said,” Hamish snaps, eyes gone silver, “ we can’t kill them _until we know_ they’re involved.”

The bushes rustle.

He shoves Hamish back a little further so Greybeard won’t accidentally knock him down and -

Cold metal cuffs clamp on his wrists and Greybeard shrinks back inside of him with an annoyed twitch. 

Alpha emerges from the woods. 

Fucking shit. 

Tundra snarls. 

Randall points sternly at him, chains clanking with the movement. “Don’t even-”

Silverback, Timber, and Midnight rush past them. 

Tundra gives him a flat look. 

“OK fine, go!” He tries to wiggle out of the chains. “ _Aperiatur!_ ”

Nothing happens. 

Seriously? He opened a portal to the fucking demon realm but he can’t get out of a pair of handcuffs?! 

Alyssa skids to halt next to him, Nicole close behind with the sword, and tugs at the chains. “ _Deleatur!”_

The chains explode with enough force to knock all three of them to the ground. He looks over to make sure they’re OK, but they’re already back on their feet.

Alright, let’s try this again. 

He jumps to his feet, colors going sharp and the ground groaning under his weight, and then a handful of power explodes in his face and someone hisses, _“_ _Ossa atque pellis!_ ”

And then it all goes fuzzy. Dim. Cloudy. He feels… hot all over. 

Everything is spinning, faster and faster, and he tries to focus on Tundra but everything… everything is blurry...

Something heavy wraps around his neck, cold and hard - the chains again? - and he swipes at it, fingers grazing the rough metal, and it’s not tight on his throat, so why can’t he breathe? He coughs and then he can’t stop coughing and something rattles in his chest but he can’t cough it up.  
  
Maybe he should sit down.

No, he has to… what was… where’s Tundra?

Why’s everything so blurry?

Someone’s calling him but he can’t… where’s… he can’t stop coughing. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

Why’s everything… dark...


	12. In which there is pain...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, friends. Deep breaths! 
> 
> If you're squeamish, skip to the door splintering!
> 
> I think we have two or three more to go.
> 
> Hugs and love!

“You said it would cure him, not kill him!”

“It’s poison, what did you think it was going to do to him?”

“Jenny, be quiet, and it won’t kill him as long as he doesn’t transform.”

“Then just cut off a piece of him and let him go.”

Everything hurts. Head, stomach, arms, legs, even his fucking hair hurts. And it’s cold, really, really cold, he’s shivering and his teeth chatter - his teeth hurt, too, so this is less than ideal - and the ground is…

The ground.

He’s laying on the ground. Not the ground outside the Den, or inside, not the Temple, not… not anywhere that’s familiar. 

He forces himself into an upright position, hissing as the ache in his stomach sharpens. And then coughing as the air rattles wetly in his chest. 

It’s a lab. It’s pretty well stocked by science standards, even better by magic ones. There’s a massive bookshelf against the far wall, desk, computer, and, there, in the corner, is Alpha’s hide locker. 

Where’s Hamish? Where’re his friends? 

“I’m not wasting the last of my supplies if there’s even a chance it won’t work.”

He glances towards the door where Selena and Angus and Travenner and Jenny are arguing, apparently about what to do with him. 

“Look at him! He can’t even move, you don’t need to use that thing on him!”

“We need answers, this is how we get them.”

“Selena, if you want out, there’s the fucking door!”

Shit. 

He can still feel Greybeard, though. He’s still there. She’ll have to hit him again to sever him. That’s … that’s good. 

He takes a deep breath - ow, ow, ow - and muffles the resulting coughing fit into elbow before shakily attempting to stand. Everything gets blurry and his stomach cramps threateningly and he has to slump against the wall.

“Language, Jennifer!”

“Angus, come on.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you want to be here when Hamish finds him and goes on a rampage?"

OK, so he can’t wolf out. And he can’t walk. And the room’s still spinning and he’s still shaking and everything hurts. 

So. How does he get out of here?

The door opens and Selena steps back into the room. She barely glances at him as she passes, but he calls after her weakly, “What happened to the others?”

She tucks her hair behind her shoulders. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon to rescue you.”

“Were they OK?” She starts to go through another door. “Please, just -”

Angus stomps past him and out the door, pulling Selena behind him. 

Fucking Angus…

_We should have killed him when this started_. 

Ha. Shit, don’t make him laugh. That hurts.

_We need to leave_.

Greybeard’s voice is weaker, raspier. Strained. 

He manages one step before doubling over in pain and then Greybeard takes over. Not completely, he doesn’t transform, but Randall is definitely not driving anymore. Everything still hurts, but Greybeard pushes him through it, slowly. He has to be in pain, too. This has to be agony for him, too. 

Greybeard stops them at the desk, just past the door where Travenner instructs Jenny, “Nothing perverse, and do not kill him. If you have to heal him to keep him conscious, fine, but not so much that he can transform.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know…”

_We need to keep moving._

He feels terrible.

_Deep breaths_. 

That also feels terrible, but complaining and trying not to cough so hard he collapses gives him something to focus on while Greybeard marches him toward the door. 

_Almost there._

Light suddenly floods the lab so brightly Randall has to bury his face in his elbow for a few seconds before he can look up. 

Jenny Travenner, dressed in a fluffy white robe and holding the biggest Starbucks cup he’s ever seen full of something Randall imagines tastes like grass, comes around the corner, slurping contentedly. 

“Hey, look who’s awake!” she greets brightly, setting her drink aside. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain level?”

Ten.

“Three,” Greybeard rasps, straightening up - ow, fuck! - and pressing on towards the door. 

A clawed, fur covered hand grabs his arm, nails pricking his skin, and drags him back towards the corner where he started. 

“You know, I almost get the appeal to being a werewolf,” she muses. “I wanted to try it as soon as my dad showed it to me. Oh, you probably knew him before you killed him, actually, he was in Praxis. You guys do a bunch of stuff with Praxis right?”

She drops him back onto the ground like a dirty towel. He resists the urge to curl up only because that would require more movement. 

“I mean, he was, like, not super involved. Guess that’s why you didn’t think of it, huh?”

They got played. They got played big time. 

“Anyway, I wanted to try it on right away but my mom was all, ‘No, we have to make sure the potion works,’ so she called dibs so she could test the potion, and then she severed herself, and then she said my dad should wear it, which is so sexist, right?”

She’s monologuing. It’s not helping his headache but he’ll be able to tell the others how Travenner pulled it off. When they get here. 

How long has he been here?

“Nice necklace, by the way. Is that a protection sigil?”

He tucks it back into his shirt as subtly as he can manage. 

“Aw, did Hamish give it to you?” she coos. “That is so sweet! I’ve got one, too, actually. It’s sort of a hand-me-down. Want to see?”

Nope. Not even a little, but she’s already reaching into her robe and pulls out a small charm, swinging violently on its black chain as she holds it up. 

“Cute,” he deadpans. 

“Yeah,” she sighs fondly. “It’s not super great for protection but it does let you tell people exactly what they want to hear.”

Is she too young or just too stupid to realize millions of people do that all the time to get what they want - politicians, salespeople, Gabrielle Dupres, for instance - without the help of magic? Big fucking deal. What a dumb -

“Even if they give you a truth serum.”

\- charm… oh. 

“Cool, right? I found it with all the stuff my mom took off Kepler when Coventry died and she let me keep it.” Jenny drops the charm and smiles, this time for real. “So. Why won’t the poison work on Hamish?”

He means to say ‘Fuck off’ but instead he just groans and slumps a little lower against the wall. 

She pulls her other hand out from behind her back, wearing some kind of gauntlet “You know what this is?”

He swallows, gritting his teeth against how sore his throat is. “Thanos-themed Happy Meal toy?”

“Oh my god, you’re really funny!” The hand wearing the gauntlet grabs his face. “And a total babe. It’s such a tragedy that you’re gay.”

“Bi.”

“My bad. Hamish is pretty hot, too, in, like, a clean cut kind of way. I’ll bet he’s ripped under those button-ups.”

Randall tries to pull away but that glove has a surprising grip strength. 

“He seems like the literal definition of gentleman in the streets and freak in the sheets. Is he?”

“Go to hell,” he bites out. 

At first it’s just heat. A tingle on his face that rapidly grows into a blistering flare till he smells his own flesh burning. And then it’s white hot, searing pain, bubbling under his skin and his blood boils over, spilling out of his eyes. 

Jenny lets him go - the pain subsides so quickly he nearly collapses - and smiles. 

“Why are you doing this?” he groans. “What’s in it for you?”

“Your boyfriend destroyed my family when he killed my brother, and now he’s destroying the Order.”

“Your brother was a murderer.”

“My brother hunted down a werewolf and killed it.”

“Her,” Randall snaps weakly. 

The gauntlet closes around his wrist. “Does he love you as much as he loved her?”

“Fuck off…”

This time he can see his skin glowing like a hot coal as it burns, see the air around the gauntlet go wavy as the heat rolls off of it. He jerks back, but she just tightens her hold and he feels the heat in his bones, feels it smoldering, his skin blistering and he wants to scream but it catches in his throat and blood fills his eyes till he blinks and then it runs down his face.

“Tell the truth and it’ll stop,” she says in a bored voice. “Does he love you as much as he loved her?”

She’s going to burn his fucking hand off. 

“Yes,” he grinds out. 

It stops. 

It stops so fast the scream he choked back claws out of his throat in a strangled gasp and he crumples to the ground, coughing so hard his stomach cramps up in a tight knot.

_Breathe_.

He’s trying.

Jenny plops down next to him, humming thoughtfully. “Scale of one to ten, how bad was that?”

Twelve.

“Five,” Greybeard wheezes. 

“Oh, tough guy, huh?” She grins and pats his shoulder - he shrinks away -, almost soothingly. “Why didn’t the poison work?”

Dammit. 

“I don’t know,” he tries.

Even through his sweatshirt, his skin catches fire. And it burns and burns and his mouth fills with blood and once he starts coughing it out, he can’t stop. Even when she lets go of him, he coughs till he gags and his stomach heaves. 

He wipes his mouth and his sleeve comes away bloody. 

“Oooh, that looks bad,” Jenny hisses as she mockingly rubs his back. “Let’s try an easy one. How about… oh, here’s a good one, what’s your favorite thing about Hamish?”

“Everything,” he mumbles. 

Nothing happens. 

He doesn’t mind how cold the floor is anymore. 

“That’s sweet. You think you’ll marry him?”

Greybeard chuckles under his breath and answers for him, “Yes.”

“How romantic. Too bad you’ll probably be dead if you don’t tell me how to fix the poison.”

_It’s not a question, you don’t have to answer_.

Randall can’t answer anyway. He’s slipping back towards unconsciousness. Maybe when he wakes up again, Hamish and his friends will be here. Maybe Tundra will burst through those doors and hit Jenny so hard she’ll fly through the wall.

Metal-gloves fingers tiptoe down his spine before a palm flattens against the small of his back - Hamish does that sometimes, she shouldn’t do it, no one else should do it - and she asks, “Why didn’t -”

A door clangs somewhere down the hall. 

_Tundra_. 

Hamish. Thank fucking god. 

Greybeard snarls, “He’ll burn your hide for this.” 

Alpha snarls back and Jenny hisses, “ _Haec forma et omnia quae noto plicentur!”_

The lights flicker but nothing else happens. 

Jenny grabs him by the back of his neck. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Fuck. You.”

_Breathe, breathe, breathe…_

It doesn’t help. 

It doesn’t help, it just burns and burns and his stomach twists at the smell of burning skin and his eyes bleed and he tastes blood and bile and - thunder rolls ominously out the window. Please be Lilith, please be Lilith. - don’t scream, don’t give her the satisfaction, just breathe, just breathe, just don’t scream, don’t beg her to stop, don’t say anything. Spit out the blood, cough out more, but. Don’t. Scream. 

Where’s Hamish?

She lets go only to push him onto his back and put her hand right over the bite Hamish gave him last night. He tries to throw her off but she presses down till he thinks his chest will collapse. 

“Why. Didn’t. It. _Work_?” 

This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt so much worse. 

Where the hell is everyone?

Greybeard laughs in her face - dick move, that hurts like a bitch - and says, “Cause your mom is a shitty scientist.”

Alpha’s out in an instant and at least when backhands Randall, right across the face, the force of the blow is enough to knock him out. 

Unfortunately, someone setting your heart on fire is enough to wake you right back up. 

  
And it’s enough to finally make him scream. 

* * *

He has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, or how many times Jenny’s asked him some variation of the same question, but blood steadily drips from his eyes, his mouth, his nose as his head hangs because he just can’t hold it up anymore. 

It hurts to blink. 

It hurts to swallow. 

It hurts to breathe in, no matter how shallow. It hurts just as bad to breathe out. Every breath rattles wetly in his chest. 

It hurts to whimper - he tried not to scream but he must have because his throat is raw, he thinks he screamed for a while -, cry, snarl, snap back at her. 

He passed out twice. Both times Alpha backhanded him into consciousness so hard he probably has whiplash. 

He puked once. There was blood in that, too. 

He can’t do this much longer, though. 

Metal-gloved fingers curl around his throat and force his head up. He keeps his eyes closed. It doesn’t hurt any less, but he’s sick of her face. He’s been here long enough to not want to look at her anymore.

She keeps casting the spell. He doesn’t know what it does but he knows they’re getting closer. The storm outside is raging harder and harder. He can’t smell anything but his own blood but the last coherent thing Greybeard whispered to him was, _She can slow time but she cannot stop it. They’ll catch up soon. Just breathe. This will all be over soon._

He can barely hear Greybeard now. His voice got weaker and weaker and now it’s so quiet. Just one word mumbles and weakly bitten out insults aimed at Jenny and Alpha. But Randall can’t hear him so well anymore. 

“Do you like being a werewolf?”

She does that a lot. Asks completely hypothetical questions and forces him to answer one way or the other. Kids these days…

He tries to nod, but the movement must not happen because the grip on his throat squeezes till he slurs out, “Yes.”

Nothing happens.

“No regrets?”

He swallows. Coughs. Swallows down what he coughed up. “No.” 

Nothing happens. 

“Do you wish I’d kill you and get it over with?”

Shit. 

“Maybe,” he tries. 

Wrong answer. A sharp jolt of pain flares out from his chest, sending another rush of blood bubbling up his throat before it spills out of his mouth. Does that count as puking? His stomach muscles stopped convulsing a little while ago. His body is not doing anything at this point. He wouldn’t even be sitting up if she didn’t have him propped against the wall. 

Jenny tsks. The hand moves into his hair. He hates when she touches his hair. Sometimes she starts off petting him, and he thinks it’s something Hamish would do if he was here. It’s just as bad as the actual torture.

“Try again,” she sing-songs.

It wasn’t a question. He doesn’t have to answer. But the question will come, so he better-

She pulls his hair until he’s sitting up straight. He can’t say where the pain comes from, it just comes. “Do you wish I’d kill you?”

“Not without…”

He can’t. 

Greybeard goes on, “Saying bye.”

Nothing happens. 

“You’re not going to see anyone again unless you tell me what you did to stop the poison from working.”

They fell in love. That’s it. It’s so fucking dumb, he kind of wants to tell her just to see the look on her face. But, when you think about it, magic is just energy plus sacrifice plus intention, right? Love could be energy or an intention. It can have a half life. It takes sacrifice. It can hurt or heal or do any of the other stupid fucking shit people use magic for. 

“Do you think he’d go through all of this for you?”

“Yes.”

“Would your other friends?”

“Yes.” 

“Would you blame them if they broke?”

“No.”

“Would they blame you?”

“...no.”

“Then what did you do to stop the poison?”

No, no, no… 

Greybeard answers for him, “Would your mother go through this for you?”

Greybeard still screams, which sucks because it’s Randall’s throat. 

He can't, he can't, just tell her, tell her, tell her they didn't do anything.

“We didn’t do anything.”

That one counts. She just doesn’t like it. 

“Why do you _think_ it didn’t work?”

The door bangs. 

Greybeard’s relieved. Hopeful. That’s a good sign. 

Jenny’s hand falls away instantly and he slumps down further. The blood just drips, drips, drips…

Another bang. This time the wood splinters. 

Greybeard grins. 

Randall whimpers. 

The door shatters, chips and shards of wood flying. 

Alpha roars and there’s a loud smack as he slams into another body - _Silverback_ , Greybeard tells him. And then Jenny is screaming, sharp and high pitched - _Timber’s dragging her out by her hair._

“Cool,” he mumbles. 

Hands - no gauntlet, just long, slender fingers - gently, so gently grab his shoulders to steady him before he slides any further down the wall and he’s being pulled into a careful embrace. 

_Tundra,_ Greybeard sighs, sagging against Randall’s bones, but when Randall manages to make his eyes open and focus, it’s to clear blue eyes with a desperate, murderous edge staring back at him out of his favorite face in the world. 

Hamish swallows hard and gives him a shaky smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Randall wants to tell him how Travenner got the locker, and he can’t wolf out but Greybeard took a few hits for him and it still hurt but it kept his head in the game, Greybeard’s the best, and he is so, so fucking happy to see him and he loves him, but he can’t. He can’t, he… he’s tired and everything hurts and he’s cold and Hamish's body is so warm and he just ways to lay here for a minute. 

“It’s OK.” Lips press against his forehead. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be OK.”

He wants to go home. 

Hamish’s arms wrap more snugly around him and repositions him carefully until he’s leaning back against his chest. It occurs to him that Hamish’s fingers are wet and when he blindly reaches to touch his hands, they’re mangled and radiating heat.  
  
“I tore down the door,” Hamish says through his teeth. “I tried every spell I could but they must have done something to it.”

He wants to tell him about the spell but he doesn’t know what it did. And he’s really tired. And cold. And everything hurts. 

Greybeard, tell Hamish to take him home. 

“Hey, try to stay awake. Just, just focus on my voice.”

He can do that. He likes Hamish's voice. 

“Remember right after you transformed for the first time and you made your first kill, you told me you were doing a thirty-day vegan thing and now you’d have to start all over?”

Werewolves make shitty vegans.

“That’s still one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to me.” He rubs over his arms, like he’s trying to warm him up. It’s not working. “And I asked you what your favorite drink was so we could celebrate and you said ‘Margs’ and you laughed so hard at my face that you fell over the back of the couch.”

Margs are the best, screw you, Hamish. 

“I would have let you keep the mouse. They probably don’t make good pets, but I would have let you try.”

Greybeard, ask him if they can go home now. Please, he just wants to go home. He just wants to sleep in his own bed under a million blankets with his boyfriend. 

“Come on, baby, stay with me. I can’t be a single den parent.”

That is not a very convincing laugh for a reasonably clever joke. Why isn’t Hamish laughing for real?

“Please don’t make me do this without you. I don’t, I don’t think I can.”

Hamish is crying. Hamish should never cry. Why is Hamish crying?

“Randall, please…”

Oh. 

Oh he thinks…

He must look really bad. He feels really bad. He must look it, too. 

“I owe you three dates, remember? And dinner, and, and, and we’re going to sleep in all weekend. Every weekend. Every weekend, unless, unless we have something better to do.”

Greybeard, tell Hamish he’s not dying. He’s just tired. Tell Tundra. He’ll tell Hamish, right?

“I’ll do anything, just please don’t…”

“Please don’t leave me.”

Greybeard?

The effort it takes to grab Hamish’s hand makes him shake with pain, but Greybeard’s not answering, so Randall has to tell him. He wants a week to sleep, he wants a hundred dates, he wants to get werewolf-married. He’s not going anywhere. He’s just tired and everything hurts and cold, but Hamish is warm, so if he just holds him like this for a while, maybe he won’t be cold anymore. 

But every breath is a stab to the chest and his throat is shredded so all he gets out is, “ 'm OK."

That gets him a smile, watery and wobbly, but a smile all the same. 

“I'll get you out of here soon, I promise. Just gotta let the guys clear up a few things. Just, just stay with me. OK? Just hang on for me. I’ve got you.”

Yeah. Yeah he does. 

“Love you,” he slurs, head lolling against Hamish’s neck. 

He catches Hamish whisper it back before his eyes slip closed.


	13. In which things are rarely as difficult as we make them out to be and Randall finds his missing sweatshirts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I promised someone smut, but unfortunately and certainly not for lack of trying, it didn't make it into this chapter... but the next one for sure! 
> 
> (I'm an unreliable narrator o_O )
> 
> OK, so there is some blood and puking in the first part of this. Skip over "the cough escalates..." and pick it up when someone says "Purgeteur," but there's mentions of blood throughout so... sorry again???
> 
> Sidenote, is anyone else bothered that these characters are in college and they just... never talk to their parents? No? Just me? I guess they actually address most people's strained relationships with their parents, but still. Hmm...
> 
> Last of all ... your comments are the sweetest, most wonderful parts of my day, so thank you SOSOSO much for sticking with me through the story and all of the encouragement. We are a smoll ship but we are mighty!
> 
> Hugs and love to all!

Everything’s fuzzy when he opens his eyes again. Blurry. Like he’s underwater and staring up at the sun. But what’s immediately clear is that he’s in a bed. His bed. He’s in his bed, but his bed is in the living room. On the living room floor, specifically. He’s home, but he can’t remember how he got here. 

It’s hot in here. He remembers being cold but now it’s so, so hot. He can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in here, and his skin is on fire, like it’s stretched too tight, too thin. 

He sits up, coughing, and looks toward the window at an overcast sky. It’s probably cooler outside. Maybe he could breathe if he was outside. 

The drag of the blankets on his bare skin prickles and stings. He pushes them down to his hips, but the bite of the air is almost just as bad. He glances down, expecting to see raw, blistering handprints from the gauntlet but there’s nothing. Just sweat and goosebumps. 

Maybe it’s not his skin. 

Tundra felt like ice. 

Ice would feel good right now. 

They should finish it. Maybe he’d feel Tundra again. Maybe his skin would stop burning and his bones would stop aching. Maybe he could breathe.

The coughing escalates into a full blown fit, and he tries to take a long, slow breath, but he can’t. He just keeps coughing, gasping for air and curling in on himself until he has a mouthful of blood and then he’s choking on it, and then his stomach heaves and he barely makes it to the edge of the mattress before throwing up. He gags until his stomach twists around nothing and drops back onto the mattress.

Someone - Silverback, he thinks - fires a quick,  _ “Purgetur _ ” towards the mess. Poof. Gone. He only knows it happened because he still tastes blood and his throat is on fire. 

He should go outside. It wouldn’t be so hot outside.  He could go hunting. He could get a deer for Tundra. For his pack. 

But he needs his own skin for that. This isn’t his. That’s why he can’t breathe. It’s not his. It doesn’t fit. If he moves wrong, it’ll rip open. Maybe he should rip it open. 

A wet rag carefully wipes at his face and it should feel good, but it’s too cold, the cloth is like sandpaper, and he doesn’t want it.

“Shh, it’s OK,” a quiet voice soothes. 

Tundra? 

“He’s getting worse,” the voice says quietly to someone else, maybe to Silverback. “We need to-”

Tundra, wait. 

“It’s OK,” the voice says again. “It’s OK, I’m here.”

A hand, Tundra’s hand, presses against his face, thumb brushing over his cheek light, light, barely there but it hurts, it stings like a wasp with every drag against his skin, and he hates it. Hates it because he  _ wants _ but it burns and hurts. 

It’s not his skin, it’s too tight, it doesn’t fit, it hurts, he can’t feel Tundra.

He growls, tries to growl, but another harsh, wet coughing fit bubbles up from his chest. He twists away from the hand on his face to muffle the sound against his shoulder, but the hands are back, stroking lightly over his back and he shudders against the touch. 

It’s the skin. The skin isn’t his. The skin has to go. 

He digs his nails into his forearms as deep as he can, snarling at the way it snaps as it punctures - it’s too tight, it’s stretched too thin, it doesn’t fit - and tears.

Tundra pries his hands away, “Hey, stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

He snarls and tries to twist out of his grip, even though it hurts and another wet cough drags its way up from his chest, but Tundra doesn’t let go. “It’s not mine.”

“What’s not yours?”

“This skin,” he hisses. “It hurts. It doesn’t fit, please, I just want my skin back. I, I, I need my hide. Where’s my hide? Tundra, please I -”

Tundra adjusts his hold to weave their fingers together, palm-to-palm. “Does this hurt?”

A little, but he doesn’t want him to let go. Wants him closer, wants to feel him, so he pulls, shaking with the effort, until they’re forehead to forehead. He can’t smell him, why can’t he smell him? All he smells is blood and ashes. He tastes it, too, char and smoke and metal and bile. 

They didn’t finish it. He wants to finish it. If they finish it, he’ll feel him again. Please, he just wants to feel him again.

“I held onto you” he whispers, voice breaking around a full body shudder. “I wouldn’t let her take you, I held on, she didn’t break it. I swear, I didn’t let you go this time.”

“I know,” Tundra says quickly. “I know you didn’t.”

“We need to finish it. Please, if we, if we finish it, I’ll feel you again. And I’ll get my skin back, please, I, I-”

“We’ll finish it, I promise. But you have to get better first.”

It’s not his skin. He wants his skin back. He’ll feel better in his own skin. 

“Randall,” the voice is quiet but firm. 

Hamish?

“Randall, calm down, sweetheart. You're going to make yourself sick again.”

It takes a few blinks before his form solidifies and he can clearly see every detail of his face. He hones in on Hamish’s eyes. Murky blue like a frozen lake. Red-rimmed and framed by dark circles. 

“Hey, you,” he whispers, glancing down at their still joined hands. “This still OK?”

He nods. He thinks he nods. Hamish doesn’t let go so he must nod. 

He drags his fingers over Hamish’s palm, mapping out the lines etched over his skin. It feels like tiny little static shocks with every brush of his finger, but he can’t see sparks. Sparks like when they kiss. Sparks that turn into wildfire. 

Fire would feel good right now. He’s freezing. He’s so cold his body is starting to tremble. He thinks he was hot a minute ago but now he’s so cold he feels it in his bones, a deep, icy ache. 

Hamish is warm. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles.

The blankets peel back and he shudders at the brief rush of air but then arms close around him and it hurts, but he wraps his arms around Hamish anyway. He’s too weak and sore to hug back as hard as he wants, and Hamish’s shirt feels like steel wool, but he tucks his face into Hamish’s neck and breathes in as much as his rattling lungs can hold anyway. 

* * *

He’s up with the sun. Watches the daylight unroll over the treetops outside the window. Paces because now it’s not just his skin that burns, it’s his blood. His blood is boiling, he feels the steam building under his skin, if he could just cut it open, if he could just peel it back so he can breathe. 

He opened the window last night but he couldn’t stand the bite of the air on his skin.

The skin has to go. Whatever the witch’s daughter did to him… it’s in his skin now. Tundra said it’s his skin, so it must be. Tundra would know. But there’s something wrong with it. And now it’s in his blood. 

“Hey.”

He glances at the Tundra’s reflection in the glass, watching as he rises from the bed and approaches. Smiling. Hair sticking up in random spots. Cuts on his hips vivid against his skin where the sleep pants have slid low on his hips. 

They were so close...

Tundra leans against the wall at his side. Starts to touch him and remembers he shouldn’t - he hates this,  _ hates _ this, he wants him to touch him - as he asks, “What woke you up?”

“Too hot.” His voice comes out garbled and strained. 

“Come back to bed. I’ll pull some of the blankets off.”

He shakes his head. “It’s my skin.”

Tundra offers his hand, palm up. They did this last time he woke up, he realizes, and takes it, sliding his fingers between Tundra’s. Marvels at how perfectly their hands fit together. Smiles in spite of himself. 

“I missed you,” he whispers.

There’s a beat and then a soft reply, “He missed you, too.”

He…? He… “Hamish?”

“Yeah,” he answers with the barest trace of a smile. “Think you can manage to drink something?”

He shakes his head. “I’m tired.”

If Hamish is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He just helps him back to bed, and it’s only as they’re laying down that he notices the flowers on the coffee table. All different kinds, ranging from muted, dusty pink roses to dark red sunflowers. And next to them in a mini pot is a small, perfectly round cactus. 

“You got me flowers?”

“And a tiny cactus.” Hamish presses a barely there kiss to his hair. “I went out to the Sons of Prometheus’s compound to see if they had anything left to make the cure-all. They don’t yet, but I didn’t want to come home empty handed.”

Randall sighs. “Thanks.”

“Everything should be ready soon. I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”

  
  


“S’OK.”

“No,” he says quietly, “no, it’s not.”

He’s just sick. He was poisoned. And tortured. And tired. So, so tired. And he’s back to being cold again. 

He nestles closer to Hamish. How can he be so warm when Tundra is cold? But this isn’t Tundra, this is Hamish. It’s Hamish who tucks him under his arm, lightly at first while Randall’s skin adjusts to the pressure and feel of it, and lets him sneak his frozen toes between his calves. 

“Just get some rest, OK?”

“Mmk.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

* * *

It’s hard to wake up, almost impossible to stay awake, but that doesn’t stop Randall from coughing. Choking. Sweating and shivering and burning up and freezing.

Someone wipes something - blood, it’s always blood - from the corner of his mouth, the touch like fire on his skin. 

Gabrielle murmurs to someone, “OK, let me try.”

A hand slips under his neck, cradling the base of his skull as his head is tilted up. Something nudges his lips.

“Come on, Randall,” she says softly, “just a sip.”

He tries. He really does but his mouth isn’t working, his throat’s not working, whatever she’s giving him just runs over his lips and down the side of his face. 

Footsteps pad into the room, followed by Alyssa’s quiet voice, “Did he…?”

“No,” Gabrielle replies. She takes a loud, shaky breath. “He’s getting worse.”

“We’ll have everything for the cure-all soon.” Jack’s voice is so quiet Randall barely catches it. 

“Soon as in tomorrow?” Her voice breaks on the last word and he tries to get up, tries to tell her that’s not, that’s not what’s happening. “Look at him, Morton, we’re losing him!”

There’s some shuffling, footsteps he thinks belong to Lilith, the squeak of the leather couch, and then it’s just crying. Hard, sobbing, hiccupping crying. Nicole whispering, “I’m so sorry, Lil. I’m so, so sorry.”

No, no, no, he has to fix this. 

He just has to get up. He just has to-

More footsteps. Heavier but just as quiet. 

He doesn’t want to hear this part. 

“Nothing?” Hamish whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

Hamish doesn’t say anything. 

Tell them he’s not dying, tell them he was awake earlier.

“We should call his-”

“I’m going to Praxis.”

“Hamish, we worked so hard to get them on our side, we can’t-”

“Get out of my way.”

“He wouldn’t want y-”

“You know it was his idea to remove Silverback? We didn’t want to, we didn’t think we should do it without permission, and he said we had to do whatever it takes to save your life.”

What the hell is going on? Come on, wake up, wake up, wake up.

“Look, I get what this must-”

“No, Jack, you don’t,” Hamish snarls. “I sincerely hope you never do, but I am going to get the ingredients for the cure-all and I will kill anyone who gets in my way, because that is what he’d do for us.”

This doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah? And how’s he going to feel when he wakes up and finds out we’re back in magical world war three?”

Mad. He’s going to be really, really mad. 

“I’ll take world war three, I’ll take all of it, but I can’t lose him.”

No.

No, no no no.

Randall bolts upright and… 

> He is not in the Den… anymore... 
> 
> He’s in some kind of a forest. Not his forest, but eerily reminiscent of the scene that played out in his head in the Fear Corridor. His eyes land on the stone archway and … h e knows this place. Jack told him about it. 
> 
> And if he’s here that means… he really is… 
> 
> No. No, no, no no. 
> 
> A cloud of warm air hits his face. He looks up and he’s face to face with Greybeard, teeth bared in a snarl. 
> 
> He can barely draw in enough breath to gasp before he winds up doubled over, hacking up blood, startled at  _ seeing _ Greybeard instead of  _ being _ Greybeard. He never realized how many teeth Greybeard has before, or how big he was, or how sharp those claws look when they’re not on your own hand. 
> 
> Not that it matters, considering he’s dying anyway. That’s why he’s here. Because he’s dying. 
> 
> The blood he coughed into his elbow soaks through his sleeve. He feels it on his skin. 
> 
> He can’t be dying, he… 
> 
> Oh god, Hamish… his friends… 
> 
> They’ll have to call his parents. They’ll have to make up some story about how he died. 
> 
> His parents… he hasn’t talked to them in two weeks, just a few texts here and there. They were begging him to come home for winter break, just for a weekend. He told them he’d try, that was the last thing he told his mom, “Sorry, I’m really busy. I’ll try, though, OK?” 
> 
> Are his eyes bleeding again or is he crying?
> 
> He never… they would have really liked Hamish. They would have loved him. 
> 
> This will be the second time Hamish has had to make that phone call, he shouldn’t have to do this again. 
> 
> Who the hell is going to keep an eye on those guys? Jack keeps getting himself almost killed - isn’t that fucking ironic? - and, and Lilith just got her demon powers, and Gabby’s still getting the hang of things, and, god, she’s bawling her eyes out on the couch right now. 
> 
> No, no, no, he can’t, he can’t die like this. It’s not fair. They’re in love, they were so happy, they were going to be so happy. They were… they were going to … 
> 
> A shadow falls over him and he waits for the claws, the teeth, the weight of a massive werewolf foot stomping through his ribcage, but all he feels is a warm, wet nose gently nudging the back of his neck. 
> 
> Randall laughs weakly. “I’m sorry we didn’t fix it. I’m so sorry, buddy.”
> 
> Greybeard rumbles consolingly at him. 
> 
> If you told Randall he was going to end up in a weird forest version of purgatory while his werewolf watches over him and his friends all stand over his dying body on another plane of existence… 
> 
> He buries his face in Greybeard’s neck. 
> 
> “We had a good run, right? We, we did some really cool shit,” he tries to laugh but it just comes out a cough with more blood trickling over his lips. “You’ve gotta take care of them, OK? Make sure the, make sure the next one takes care of them.”
> 
> Greybeard whines. 
> 
> “He can’t let you go.”
> 
> Fuck. He knows that voice. Hears it in his nightmares. 
> 
> Greybeard whirls around and roars, standing protectively between Randall and Dr. fucking Hemmings.
> 
> Hemmings looks way too pleased to see them there, peering past Greybeard to squint at Randall. Like he’s about to shoot at a sleeping tiger, smug and way too complacent since he thinks he’ll get away with it. 
> 
> “You’re here because he can’t let you go,” he says, gesturing at Greybeard. 
> 
> Randall pushes himself onto his feet, sways, and just before he gets reacquainted with the ground, Greybeard lunges to catch his weight and ease him back onto the ground. 
> 
> Hemmings sneers, “It's unsettling…”
> 
> “What?” Randall snaps. 
> 
> He doesn’t seem to hear him. 
> 
> Greybeard growls deep in his chest and snaps.  _ That _ he hears loud and clear.
> 
> “You should be dead, Mr. Carpio. That… thing, is the only reason you aren’t.” He frowns like someone just pissed in his coffee. “You have quite the ordeal ahead of you.”
> 
> Randall wipes his face with the back of his hand and hugs his sweatshirt tighter around him. “I don’t want to die.”
> 
> “Your life might not be worth living.”
> 
> Greybeard lunges and slashes at Hemmings. He scrambles to get away but Greybeard grabs him and throws him against the archway. It’s not as satisfying as it would be if Randall got to do it, too, but Hemmings looks like he's going to shit himself. He’ll take it.
> 
> “I’m not playing your games,” Randall coughs out and Greybeard shoves him, hard enough that the stone cracks. “Tell me wha-”
> 
> “That bond is killing you,” Hemming cries, alarmed and speaking fast. “Your anchor is dragging you through the undertow as we speak. It’s not saving you, it’s killing you. The human body is not meant to withstand the strain of torture you endured when it was already clinging to your soul for dear life. ”
> 
> The bond didn’t break? How did they get poisoned  _ and _ tortured and it didn’t break?
> 
> Randall meets Greybeard’s eyes.
> 
> Hemmings prattles on, “He’s settling into the cracks within your soul, Mr. Carpio. He is literally taking over your body.”
> 
> Greybeard stares steadily back, perfectly calm. 
> 
> What’s Randall missing? 
> 
> “Soon he won’t be able to bear it. He’ll have to transform and the moment he does, your soul will shatter and he will be all that’s left.”
> 
> His skin was on fire… and he wanted to finish it… 
> 
> But Greybeard wasn’t trying to take over, he was trying to… to what? Cut him open? To feel Tundra… if he felt Tundra, he’d get his skin… back… 
> 
> If he gets his skin back, he won’t need Randall’s.
> 
> Is it that simple? Is it… everything’s been easier than Randall made it out to be so far, but is it… is that it?
> 
> Greybeard’s lip curls. 
> 
> Randall grins back.
> 
> “You’re a very brave young man, but it’s over. He will transform completely and it will destroy you.”
> 
> Swear to god, Greybeard rolls his eyes. And it is so hard not to laugh because even in a plane of existence where he supposedly knows all, Hemmings is an idiot. 
> 
> Randall grits out, “Kill this asshole so we can go home.”   
>    
> 
> 
> Greybeard raises his arm high over his head to slash down over Hemming’s face, and as the body hits the ground with a loud _thump_ , he comes back to Randall. 
> 
> OK, now he just has to wake up. How… how does he do that?
> 
> Greybeard snarls - laughing, he’s laughing - and throws his head back to howl, loud and piercing like a knife through Randall's skull.

And then he’s back.

Sitting up in the Den. 

Everyone’s staring at him like a ghost. 

Hamish has a phone - his phone, Randall realizes - halfway to his ear but freezes.

His mom’s voice asks through the speakers, “Randall? Hon, you there?”

  
Shit!

Randall motions for him to pass him the phone, jolting Hamish out of his shock that Randall’s this conscious - yeah, babe, that’s fair - and hands him the phone.

“Mom, hey,” he croaks.

“You sound terrible!” she cries. “Are you sick?”

He laughs, coughs, winces, chokes out, “Yeah, there’s a really bad flu going around.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah,” he lies, “but I waited too long for the medicine to work, so I just have to ride it out.”

“Randall,” she groans. 

He pictures her slouching deep, deep into her chair, crushed under what she would probably call her failure as a mother to teach her son to take good care of himself while she is three hours away and unable to supervise him. If he didn’t sound like he’s been gargling rocks, she would no doubt drill him over what he’s been eating, how much water he’s drinking, how hard he’s been partying, studying, sleeping, working out, all of it. Is he resting? Is he making time to have fun? Is he stressed? 

  
(His mom is the best.) 

“I know, I know.” He glances up at Hamish and grabs his hand, squeezing as hard as he can. “Hey, I just took more cough medicine so I'm going to pass out in the next... two minutes or so, but I wanted to see if I could maybe bring my boyfriend when I come home during break?”

She shrieks so loud he has to hold the phone out, which is great because he can focus on the half terrified, half thrilled look on Hamish’s face as he drops onto the mattress.

“Is that OK?” he whispers. “I know it’s-”

“Yeah,” Hamish breathes, nodding. “But Randall, I-”

His mom is done, so he goes back to the call, “That’s a ‘yes,’ right?”

“Yes, of course,” she yells. “Oh, no, sorry, Debbie! No, I’m fine, thanks! Geez, everyone in the salon thinks I’m insane now. Wait, is it that guy you never stop talking about? Did you finally ask him out?”

Now _that_ gets a smile out of Hamish. 

Randall grins. “Something like that.”

“Aw, honey, I’m so happy for you! And I’m also so mad at you for springing that on me when you’re too sick to interrogate, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” She’s smiling, though, he can hear it in her voice. “OK, I’ve got a client coming in five minutes so I’ve gotta go, but do you want me to have some stuff delivered? Medicine? Food?”

“No, my friends took care of all that. I’ll call you in a few days when I’m feeling better.”

“No, you'll call me in two days and let me know how you're feeling or your dad and I are going to drive up to Belgrave and check on you for ourselves." 

That is a deeply horrifying prospect. "OK, I'll call you in two days."

"Good. I love you. Get better so I can ask you a million questions about this boyfriend!”

“I love you, too,” he says. “Bye, Mom.”

He hangs up the phone and hands it to Hamish to do something with it. 

“Randall, you-”

“I know, but it's fine.” Randall scoots closer till he’s practically in Hamish’s lap. “We just have to fix it, and... I'll probably still feel like shit but it won't kill me.”

“Randall…”  Hamish takes a deep, shuddery breath, leaning into the touch. “It’s going to hurt you. A lot.”

Randall coughs out a laugh. “I already hurt a lot.”

What he doesn’t say is he’ll die if they don’t. Or he’ll be gone. And he knows Hamish would let the world burn if it meant he could save him, but he doesn’t want that. Hamish has enough on his shoulders, too many enemies to outrun, too many ghosts in the shadows. Randall can’t let him take on any more fights, not if he’s not there to help him.

But Hamish just nods, tossing the phone aside - why is he always throwing Randall’s phone around? - and wraps one arm loosely around his shoulders and turns the other one over, wrist side up, offering Randall the smooth skin of his forearm. 

OK, just… just a little bit of claw. Nothing over the top. Not like the first time. 

Randall watches his nails extend, stomach rolling over and over, but he forces himself to breathe - deep breaths, just like Greybeard told him back in the lab, just breathe, they can do this - and swipes down Hamish’s arm. 

He glances up in time to see him flinch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hamish mumbles, leaning back as his eyes dart over Randall’s body like he’s trying to decide where he can bite that will hurt the least.

“It’s OK,” he says, pulling on Hamish’s wrists until he leans in closer. “Anywhere you want.”

Hamish sighs, somewhere between reluctant and resolved. “Count of three?”

“No, just-”

Sharp teeth puncture his chest, same place as the first time, just on the opposite side. Closer to his heart, which would be romantic if it didn’t hurt so. Fucking. Bad. He wants to ask if his blood tastes like poison, does his skin taste charred, is it burning the inside of his mouth, can he feel him yet, stop, don’t stop, harder, does he feel like fire, everything twisting and tangling in his brain until Hamish lets go, murmuring apologies but staring dazedly at the bite like he wants to keep doing it. 

Randall swallows and says in a rush of breath, “I love you.”

Something pinches, deep, deep in his chest and warmth flood through him. Not burning, not like before, just… warm. 

Hamish looks up, then, but it’s Tundra staring back at him. 

And then there are claws on his arms - finally, finally, get it off of him, rip it to shreds - and he lunges to get his teeth on him, a little higher on his neck this time. People will see, people will wonder, they’ll be the only ones who know. Hamish is his. Tundra is Greybeard’s. 

“I love you, too,” Hamish whispers.

He shudders at the chill, but this isn’t the cold that burns or stings till you’re numb. It’s the kind that soothes, that stops your blood from boiling and the steam rising up through skin, clearing the smoke from your head and smothering the fire in your lungs. 

And it does. A dull ache still radiates through most of Randall’s body, but his skin is… fine. It’s completely, totally fine. He can press harder against Hamish and it doesn’t, it doesn’t burn. His shirt is soft, his skin is smooth and warm, he can touch him all over and wrap his arms around him and hold him as tight as he wants. 

He buries his face into Hamish’s neck, laughing breathlessly when Hamish finally,  _ finally _ hug him back. 

“A hundred dates,” his murmurs against his skin, “dinner once a month, sleeping in till noon every weekend, you fucking me on your kitchen island, me fucking you on the couch, werewolf-honeymoon on a beach, and a trip to Portugal.”

“Anything.” Hamish’s fingers rake possessively through his hair. “Anything you want.”

Randall breathes him in deep, deeper than he’s been able to in days. Coffee and sweat and stale bedsheets and the slightest, faintest trace of roses, which has Randall glancing over the coffee table to check if the flowers are still there, but they’re different flowers now. Neutral tones, white and cream and beige and pale gold, but just as pretty.

Randall butts his forehead against Hamish’s chin. “I like those, too.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “The other ones started to wilt so I moved them to the kitchen, but your cactus is still going strong.”

“Seriously?” He sits up, bringing his hands up to frame Hamish’s face. “How long was I out?”

“Since I got you the flowers, it's been… five days, I think. I lost track.”

Holy shit. 

He starts to ask about… damn, he has a lot of questions, he doesn’t know where to start. Hamish saves him the trouble and says, “You’ve been in and out for nine days. Can we do the rest later? I just… really want to hold you for a while.”

“Sure,” he says quickly, “but that means you’re going to have to come with me while I brush my teeth and shower.”

Hamish huffs a watery laugh -  _ yes _ , there’s that smile! - and nods. “Deal.”

Randall brushes his thumb over Hamish’s lip before throwing a half-hearted glare over his shoulder at Jack. “You did not say dying was this fucking awful.”

“Didn’t you read my Amazon review?” Jack sighs. “Zero out of five, would not recommend. Especially not when you have best friends who love you and wouldn’t know what to do without you. Even though you turned one of them into a werewolf without asking.”

“Dude, first off, you really have to let that go. Second, Silverback turned you into a werewolf,” Randall points out. “I just chased you into the room.”

Before Jack can argue, someone slams into Randall and Hamish from the side, sending them both down to the mattress. It’s a great reminder that his body is still very sore from coughing, puking, shivering, tossing and turning, and trying not to die in general. But he can’t be upset for too long because it’s Lilith. And Lilith’s eyes are bloodshot and glistening, even though she has that expression she usually pairs with violent threats right before wolfing out. And her lip is trembling as her eyes well up.

He starts to hug her but she pulls back.

“You aren’t allowed to die first,” she seethes in a shaky voice.

“Lil, it’s OK,” he says, gently grabbing her shoulder, “I would have haunted the shit out of you.”

“What was I supposed to do without you?” She cracks on the last word, folding in on herself and sobbing, and Randall’s heart breaks into a hundred pieces. 

He’s barely lifted his arm an inch before she collapses against him. He’s done this a lot for her, but never because of something he did or something that happened to him, and somehow that changes everything. Hugging her and rubbing her back isn’t enough for this. He doesn’t know how to fix this. 

He looks helplessly at Hamish, silently begging him to do something. Anything. 

Hamish takes Lilith’s hand. “I wouldn’t have let him, Lil. I promise.”

She sits up, glaring at him all the intensity of an angry kitten, and snaps, “You can’t die either, you moron!”

Nicole settles down next to her, sniffling as she announces, “No one else is allowed to die, almost die, get kidnapped, or anything else for the rest of the year. OK? Can we, can we just chill on the dramatics for the rest of the year?”

  
  


“Better get used to it,” Alyssa laughs, wiping her eyes as she pats Randall’s foot through the blankets. “And you, you need to find better ways of getting attention, or something.” 

“I know,” Randall sighs. “I’m sorry I got poisoned and kidnapped and tortured within an inch of my life, wait, how is any of that my fault?”

Before she can answer, Gabrielle stomps around the bed to glare at him, mascara all over her face, and wiggles under his other arm. She looks like she’s about to say something, but then she just bursts into tears and burrows into his side, and, OK, everyone’s getting a new check mark on the Trauma Chart. And he needs to add Alyssa and Nicole to the Trauma Chart. 

Oh, but if only his teenage self could see him now. In bed, surrounded by girls while two guys watch. (What? He was extremely open-minded at a young age with a very, very productive imagination, let past Randall live). The extremely recent brush with death, sobbing, and lack of sexual activity would be a surprise, sure, but hey, he’s a werewolf. Teenage Randall would have been pretty stoked about that. 

It’s a lot better than his future would have looked a few minutes ago. 

He wraps one arm around Lilith and the other around Gabrielle, rubbing both of their backs while they cry it out. That’s when he notices Gabrielle is wearing a suspiciously oversized dark green sweatshirt that Randall strongly believes he’s been looking for for the past three months. 

  
And then he glances at Lilith and, yepp, she’s got one of his black ones which has also been MIA for a while.

“Why are you guys wearing my clothes?”

Gabrielle’s head pops up. “Werewolves crave the scent of their packmates when in distress, and as your former conquests, we earned these hoodies.” 

“Also,” Lilith sniffs, “Hamish has, like, seven of them buried in the back of his closet.”

Hamish groans loudly. “Why were you in my closet?”

“No, no, no,” Randall says sharply, “I’ve been looking for those for months and you knew it!”

Hamish sighs so deeply his shoulders droop. “Tundra was being a pain, so I just... borrowed one. And then it stopped smelling like you, so I got another one and I just kept going.” 

Holy shit, this is fantastic. 

“I was going to give them back, I swear.” 

This, this right here, this is the best moment of his life. 

“Now can someone tell me what you were doing in my closet?”

“Looking for more blankets,” Lilith says at the same time Gabrielle narrows her eyes and asks, “What’s in there that you don’t want us to find?”

“Besides the hoodies,” Randall adds, grinning. 

Hamish rolls his eyes. “This is what I get for letting all of you invade my house rent-free.”

“Is it your house, though?” Nicole asks. “I always assumed you were all just squatting in style.”

“He bought it,” Randall answers for him. “OK, so new topic, and I know we said we’d do the explanations later, but why is my bed on the floor?”

“We didn’t want to get blood on the couch,” Lilith mumbles. “And we figured you’d be more comfortable in your bed, but we didn’t want to put you upstairs in case you wandered and fell down the stairs, so … ta da!”

“We should probably relocate you to the couch now that you’re mostly lucid,” Hamish says. “That way we can wash all of this stuff and you can practice being vertical.”

“I’d rather -”

“‘Practice being horizontal with you,’” Hamish sighs. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.”

Randall frowns. “I was going to say ‘take a shower first’, but that was actually pretty good. Except I’d personally go with ‘horizontal under you.’ Not that I’m picky. I just like being horizontal with you in general.”

“We know,” everyone says at the same time, expressions varying in degree of exasperation and amusement, but mostly they just look relieved.

Yeah. Randall’s pretty relieved, too. 

* * *

Apparently being vertical is harder than it seems when you’ve been dying for nine days. That’s what Randall learned about halfway through brushing his teeth for the second time when he started leaning and, luckily, Hamish stuck around to make sure the dizzy spell - ha, magic pun! it’s like Randall’s brain is working overtime to make up for lost jokes - was temporary. 

Then again, if Hamish doesn’t want him to get dizzy, he probably shouldn’t be getting undressed to get in the shower with him. Because Randall is a fall hazard. And, look, showers are slippery, shouldn’t  _ everyone  _ have a shower buddy? For safety, obviously. Not because Hamish just pulled his shirt off with one hand and … wait…

“Your back’s healed,” Randall says, turning to run a hand over Hamish’s shoulders. “It’s like nothing ever happened.”

“Yeah, all of yours are gone, too.” Hamish glances over his shoulder at him. “I know I was freaked out at first, but now I kind of miss them. Is that weird?”

“No, I get it,” Randall sighs and kisses the nape of his neck. “I liked seeing them on you.”

Hamish huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, stepping closer so he can wrap his arms around Hamish’s waist. “I missed touching you.”

“Me, too,” Hamish says quietly, twisting to kiss Randall’s temple. “At first, anytime someone even got close to touching you, you screamed. I tried every healing spell I could find. I even made Lilith look in the demon book. And then I went to the Sons of Prometheus and they didn’t have anything, and then Vera came up with, like, twelve more things. None of those worked. So then I bought flu medicine, and you just threw it back up.”

Randall hooks his chin over his shoulder. “And you got me flowers and a tiny cactus.”

“And I got you flowers and a tiny cactus,” he agrees with a brief, blink-and-it’s-gone smile. “But then you seemed like you were getting better and all the sudden, you were… getting worse again.”

“I’m sorry,” Randall murmurs. “Remember when you said you didn’t say anything about wanting to be with me because you knew how bad it would hurt if … you know?”

He nods. 

“I think I get it a little more now.” He presses his forehead to the back of his shoulder. “I never want you to go through this again, and I was in that in-between place that Jack told us about, and I was so fucking scared, Hamish. I don’t ever want you to go there.”

Hamish turns so they’re facing each other and brings his hands up to curl around Randall’s jaw. “I wish I could tell you we won’t have to worry about it for a long time.”

“Me, too,” he whispers. 

“You know, when my feelings for you changed from platonic to -”

“Stealing my clothes and making up excuses to make out with me in public?” 

“ -  _ romantic _ , is what I was going to say. Anyway, I fought it for a long time until I realized not telling you wouldn’t make it hurt any less when it finally happens, or make it any less terrifying. All I did was cheat both of us out of time we could have spent being happy together.”

He only realizes he’s tearing up when Hamish’s thumb brushes gently under his eye.

“I’ll never stop being sorry about that, especially after this,” he adds quietly. “So let’s not cheat ourselves out of any more time being sorry about things we can’t control. Let’s just… be us. You and me. However long we get, as long as it’s you and me, it’ll be great.”

Randall nods, swallowing around a lump settling at the top of his throat, and leans in till his lips meet Hamish’s, half expecting it to hurt but it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t hurt, when the only sparks he feels are deep in his core, he kisses him harder, losing himself to the feeling of Hamish’s mouth moving against his because everything else can wait. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend for the first time in nine days and never, ever stop. 


	14. In which Randall wants what he wants, his friends are nosey, and we salute the fallen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends... I am so sorry this took so long. 
> 
> It has been a wild two weeks. I rescued a cat who was abandoned at the barn where I board my horse, a family member had surgery, and it's just been wild...
> 
> I give you smut, though, so... *throws sexy times and runs*
> 
> If you want to skip it, start reading when Randall asks Hamish what happened after they rescued him ("What happened after you got me out?"

There’s a lot of stuff Randall has to catch up on. 

He has no idea what happened to Jenny or Dr. Travenner or Angus or Selena. He doesn’t know where the hell the lab was in relation to the Den. It could have been three blocks away or three hundred miles. He doesn’t know how long they had him, how long it took for his friends to find him, what’s going on with Praxis that Hamish was about to apparently start a war, anything. Basically he doesn’t know anything. 

As soon as he got out of the shower, he should have been racing down the stairs and demanding to be caught up on everything he missed. He should be planning their next move, if there’s even a move to make because for all he knows, his friends killed everyone and the whole thing is over. Maybe they won, woo hoo, pop some champagne and bust out that non-alcoholic stuff he found two months ago that Hamish is too skeptical to try. Maybe they should be celebrating.

And don’t even get him started on how much class he’s missed. He’s sure Vera magicked up an appropriate excuse but he’ll still have a shit ton of reading to make up. Not to mention quizzes and assignments, he’ll probably never get to make up the labs, so that’s a ding on his final grades right away. 

But the thing is… the thing is, he spent the last nine days in agony and the last twenty minutes in the shower being wrapped up in Hamish’s arms, and now that’s the only place he wants to be. He cares about the other stuff, he wants to know what’s going on, and what they need to do next but… he wants Hamish more. 

So instead of getting dressed and heading downstairs, he stands outside his own door for a solid ninety seconds before giving up and going to Hamish’s room. He doesn’t bother knocking, just lets himself in and closes the door behind him as quietly as possible. 

He must have caught Hamish right after drying his hair because it’s a mess, sticking up everywhere, and Randall’s fingers twitch with the urge to comb through it, smooth it back so he can mess it up again. Hamish beats him to it, though, raking it back with his fingers only for it to flop back over his forehead. Randall would be disappointed if it wasn’t for the way the muscles in Hamish’s back and shoulders ripple under his skin as he drags his hands through his hair again.

He turns toward Randall, smirking. “Did you get lost?”

“Sort of,” he says with a forlorn sigh. “I was looking for my boyfriend. Maybe you’ve seen him, he’s about… six-one, blonde hair, blue eyes, ripped, basically just… super fucking hot.”

Hamish snorts out a laugh.

“Like,  _ so _ hot.” Randall grins, walking towards him. “And he’s... romantic and sweet and smart and so, so sexy.”

“That’s saying something,” Hamish muses, “coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

“Now  _ that _ sounds like something my boyfriend would say.”

Once he’s close enough, he cups Hamish’s face in his hands and pulls him in for a long, slow kiss. A few seconds pass before Hamish responds, mouth sliding against his, fingers ghosting over the back of his shoulders as Randall walks them back towards the bed. He climbs over him as he lays back and leans down on his elbows to kiss him harder, shivering as the nails lightly scraping down his back get a little sharper before digging into his hips - he hopes it bruises, he hopes there are fingerprints and cuts on his skin for a at least a few hours.

He rolls his hips, gasping into Hamish’s mouth at the friction and the feeling of Hamish getting hard underneath him already and then groaning when Hamish nips his lip. 

Hamish runs his hand up Randall's back to wrap around the back of his neck. “You sure you want to?”

  
Randall nods and, just to make sure he’s being perfectly clear on how much he wants to, pushes himself upright to grind harder against him. The claws at his neck slide around and down, dragging over his collarbone and grazing the still healing, still very sensitive bite mark on his chest and another shudder wracks his body. 

Hamish starts to pull away, claws already receding, but Randall catches his hand and murmurs, “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not,” he replies softly, tangling their fingers together as he brings Randall’s hand to his lips. 

Randall’s eyes slip closed as Hamish kisses over his knuckles, and then the hand on his hip shifts to splay against the middle of his back as he sits up, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re practically nose-to-nose. He can count every single eyelash framing Hamish’s pale blue eyes, or he could if he wasn’t more focused on the curve of his lips, the barely-there smile that he feels himself mirror as Hamish leans forward. Randall untangles their hands and winds his arms around Hamish’s neck, smiling harder as he’s lowered onto his back.

Hamish hovers over him, raking his eyes down Randall’s body hungrily, and bends to kiss the corner of his mouth. And nuzzle along his jaw to nose at the spot just below his ear, which tickles but Hamish is already moving on to trail harder, more lingering kisses down his neck, so his laugh winds up more of a breathy chuckle.

He pauses over the bite, staring down at it with a look somewhere between tender and possessive. “God, I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

Randall’s stomach swoops so hard he has to swallow down a whimper. 

Hamish drops a barely there kiss to the bite. His eyes dart up to Randall’s face, silently asking for permission, like he can’t hear Randall’s heart racing or feel his skin flushing. 

He nods and Hamish traces the bite with his tongue before sealing his mouth over it and sucking.

Randall gasps out a loud, “Hamish!” and arches off the bed, hands flying to Hamish’s hair and tangling in it, but he can’t decide if he wants to hold him there because it’s good, it’s  _ so _ good or pull him off because, holy shit, it’s  _ too _ good, teetering dangerously over the razor thin line of pleasure-pain, sparks lighting him up versus electric currents wracking his body, but either way he breathes faster and harder and louder the longer Hamish mouths over the bite. 

He pulls off slowly and glances up at Randall. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he gulps. “Really good.”

“Good,” Hamish echoes, pressing one more kiss to his handiwork before trailing his mouth over Randall’s stomach. “It should be illegal for you to cover all this up with those damn sweatshirts.”

Randall cards his fingers through Hamish’s hair. “You love my sweatshirts.”

“I love that they smell like you,” Hamish corrects as he unwraps the towel around Randall’s waist. 

He leans back toward his nightstand and retrieves a bottle of lube which is not fancy frosted glass from Paris like Randall originally assumed it would be, but he knows it’s expensive from his own personal perusing. 

Randall folds his arms under his head and pokes Hamish’s ribs with his foot. “Your bed could smell like me if we move this along a little faster.”

Hamish flicks him on the ankle. “So bossy.”

“I want what… I...” He trails off as a slick finger rubs over him, circling and massaging and circling and rubbing and back to massaging before finally, finally, pressing in. “Fuck…” 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Hamish murmurs, eyes practically glowing as he watches Randall. “What do you want?”

“Just…” His mouth falls open as Hamish pushes a little deeper inside of him. 

“Just…?”

Randall’s about to answer but Hamish’s finger moves even deeper inside him, all the way to the knuckle. His body clenches instinctively, thighs shaking already, and the only coherent response he can form is a groaned out, “You. Just you.”

Hamish’s free hand strokes soothingly over his leg as he works his finger in and out, curling it in just the right spot to make Randall’s brain white out and fist his hands in the blankets. Then he adds another and Randall whines as he spreads them and keeps moving them in and out slowly. So slowly. Too slowly, so he rocks back against his hand, head thrown back and skin burning under Hamish’s eager stare as he adds a third finger for him to work inside of himself because apparently he’s doing all the work now. Great, cool, so fucking gr-

Hamish crooks his fingers and presses just hard enough against his prostate that Randall nearly comes up on the spot, hips stuttering just as much from intense heat pooling in his gut as the stretch from the fingers pumping in and out of him. 

The fingers disappear, leaving him uncomfortably empty and clenching around nothing. He growls out a frustrated whimper that doesn’t get a chance to manifest into a formal complaint because Hamish turns Randall on his side and slides right up behind him, arm slipping under him to wrap across his chest while his other hand settles on his hip. He mouths at the back of Randall’s neck, trails biting kisses along the slope of his shoulder and Randall twists, arching his back so the next place he kisses has to be his lips. It pushes his ass right up against Hamish’s dick and he hisses into Randall’s mouth at the contact. He wants Hamish to make that noise again, wants to swallow up every single gasp and growl and moan, so he pushes against him harder and the arm around his chest gets tighter, and the nails digging into his hips get sharp enough to pierce his skin as Hamish thrusts up against him. His dick catches on Randall’s rim, smearing precum against him.

“Please,” he moans between kisses. “Hamish, please…”

He has to stop talking when he feels Hamish press inside of him. Slowly, slowly, but Randall still has to squeeze his eyes shut and focus on breathing because, holy fucking shit. Maybe it’s just more intense because Hamish isn’t wearing a condom and he can really, really feel him, all of him, every single inch slowly sinking into him - he thinks he can feel Hamish’s pulse throbbing through dick -, or maybe it’s the angle, maybe he just feels bigger because he can go deeper like this, it feels like he’s deeper than the last time they did this. Way, way deeper. And he feels much, much bigger, but he feels him  _ everywhere _ , completely wrapped up in him and full of him and it would be overwhelming if it wasn’t so good, if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

Hamish kisses him harder and harder, then slower and deeper, and it goes on long enough that Randall nearly forgets about the burning and pressure and how full he feels. He starts to pull away, but Randall’s not ready to let him go. He doesn’t care if he’s going to get back to fucking him or kiss him somewhere else or bite him or say something sweet or dirty or ask him if this is still good - like he can’t tell, like it’s ever been or will ever be anything other than good, like Randall wouldn’t be asking for something else, begging for it -, he doesn’t want to stop kissing him. 

He reaches back to tangle his hand in Hamish’s hair and hold him in place, breathing fast and hard against his mouth. See? They can even breathe like this, they don’t have to stop kissing, please don’t stop kissing him, because Randall doesn’t know how to put into words how much all of this means to him, how happy he is, how much he loves him and wants him, how fucking good he feels, and he just… how do you put that into words? 

He should try, though, because kissing could mean anything instead of everything, and Hamish deserves everything. Hamish should know, Randall should try to tell him, so he whispers against his lips, “I was always yours. I don’t ever wanna be anything else.”

He feels Hamish smile into their next kiss, just as lingering and deep as the ones before it. Maybe Hamish doesn’t have the words for it either, but Randall feels it. Maybe he should tell him that, too, but the words dissolve into a choked out gasp as Hamish shifts back, barely pulling out at all before rocking back into him, careful, so careful, but Randall doesn’t want careful. He wants to  feel  Hamish everywhere, wishes he could feel him for days. 

He reaches down and behind him to sink his own claws into Hamish’s hip, coaxing him to move harder, faster. “C’mon, I’m yours. Take me.”

Hamish’s teeth graze over his neck as he growls and peels Randall’s hand away, planting it on the mattress as he rolls him onto his front. He sinks in deeper, how the hell is he deeper, how the hell does it feel so much better? He’s barely moving, just barely rolling his hips, but it presses Randall into the mattress and forces the air out of his lungs so he has to suck in a loud, desperate breath. Teeth sink into his shoulder, hard enough to break the skin, and his body tries to respond, to arch his back or rock back against Hamish but he’s pinned to the bed and all he can do is claw at the blankets and gasp for more. 

Hamish licks over the spot he just bit and leans down on his elbows - deeper, deeper as his movements get harder, faster, rolling rhythm edging closer to snapping - to murmur into his ear, “Still good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” is all he manages to get out before he pulls nearly all the way out and slams back in. “Oh my go- fuck, Hamish!”

He does it again, but this time he grinds in impossibly deeper, lighting up every single nerve in Randall’s body. “Just like that, oh my god, right there, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

Hamish doesn’t just not stop, he sits up and grabs Randall’s hips, yanking him back to meet his thrusts, and he manages to nail Randall’s prostate every. Single. Time. He’s going to come, he knows it, he feels it building, the heat and pressure climbing up and up until his orgasm rips through him, wave after wave crashing over him as Hamish drives into him, claws breaking the skin, over and over until he’s shaking, barely able to hold himself up. He’s still reeling from it when he feels Hamish pulsing inside of him and the rush of warmth as his rhythm dissolves into weaker, shallower thrusts that end with his arms wrapping around Randall, holding him tight they both gasp for air and their muscles shake and their hearts beat out of their chests. 

Randall buries his face in Hamish’s arms, sighing when he feels him kissing over the back of his shoulders. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he breathes, tilting to rest his head against Randall’s. 

Randall snakes a hand up to scrape over Hamish’s scalp and apparently Hamish was still holding some of his own weight because the instant Randall starts scritching, Hamish melts into a big, warm, very attractive but very muscular and thus very heavy human blanket. Not that he’s complaining, he’s perfectly content to stay under Hamish forever. In fact, under Hamish is his new favorite place to be. He’s just going to stay here forever. Fuck the Order, fuck Praxis, fuck whoever’s left of the Travenner family, just… 

But he can’t. They can’t. 

He bumps his head against Hamish’s. “What happened after you got me?”

Hamish draws in a deep, long breath. “We cleared everything out of the lab and brought you home. Travenner, Jenny, Selena, and Angus are in a literal pit of despair, if I understood Vera correctly, and Alpha’s locker is in the basement.”

“Where was the lab?”

“Basement of her husband’s office building, about ten miles away and three blocks from Praxis’s headquarters.”

“He was in Praxis, that’s how they got the locker.”

“Yeah, we figured that out when we asked Praxis for the ingredients we needed for the cure-all and they refused unless we gave them immunity for their involvement in the attacks and Alpha’s hide locker.”

“They  _ what _ ?” Randall pushes himself up on his elbows, dislodging Hamish in the process - oops, but this is important and he can only process thoughts so much while being snuggled. “Are you saying Praxis was behind this the whole time?”

“Just the part of it that still wants to take down the Order,” Hamish huffs, stroking down his back. 

“Is that a lot of them?”

“I have no idea. Vera countered with giving them the final decision on punishment for those involved and two seats on the Council in exchange for the names and the ingredients.”

“That’s still a shitty - wow, that is jizz running down my leg...”

Hamish flops onto his back, laughing. 

“That is so weird,” Randall groans, wiping himself off with the towel previously wrapped around his waist which is now covered in bodily fluids. Which he is still laying on. Which should be gross, but… nope, not going there. 

He pulls the towel out from under him and throws it at Hamish. “We seriously need to have sex  _ before  _ showering. Or in the shower.”

“Shower sex is overrated,” Hamish mumbles, cleaning himself off and tossing the towel over the edge of the bed. “You slip everywhere, water’s in your eyes the whole time, you run out of hot water, it's just not good."

“You’re overcomplicating it,” Randall says, pulling on Hamish’s arm until he wraps it around him. “Seriously, all you have to do is bend over and lean against the wall. Or just do blow jobs or mutual handjobs. Or you can get on your hands and knees and -”

“Add it to the list,” Hamish breaks in, dropping a kiss to Randall’s shoulder. “Anyway, Praxis turned the offer down and refused to negotiate any further.”

Randall scowls at the ceiling. “Fucking Praxholes…”

“I wanted to take the deal in the first place, but I got outvoted.”

“It was a shitty deal, Hamish.”

“Not to me. By the way, how dare you turn this pack into a democracy behind my back!”

Randall smiles and goes back to petting his hair. “It got you out of vacuuming.”

“There’s something called a cleaning spell, Randall.”

“But I hate magic. Except werewolf magic. Werewolf magic is awesome.” He watches Hamish’s eyes slip closed and wonders how much sleep he’s gotten in all of this. “Tell me the rest later.”

“That’s basically it,” he murmurs. “We just have to figure out who Travenner severed and who else was involved.”

“Jenny said her mom severed herself, so that’s one,” he says in a low voice, pulling the blankets over Hamish as smoothly as he can. (You remember the rule, right? The one about disturbing sleepy Hamish? Good.) “I’m going to order an obscene amount of food, any preferences?”

Hamish opens his eyes to give him what he probably thinks is a deeply unimpressed look but he just looks like a disgruntled sleepy kitten. “You were throwing up blood less than three hours ago. You can eat toast.”

“Pizza is basically toast with tomato sauce and cheese on it. A giant piece of toast. Circular toast.”

He can tell by his blank expression that Hamish is trying to come up with an argument. And failing, given the continuous stretch of silence and the way his eyes stay closed longer and longer between blinks.

Finally, he yawns and mumbles, “I meant dry toast and you know it.”

If he’s healthy enough to get banged like a screen door in a hurricane, Randall can eat pizza. Also, he’s a freaking werewolf. He’s eaten dead things, what’s a slice of meat lovers going to do to him? But Hamish’s breathing gets slower and deeper, and this particular blink has lasted over fifteen seconds, so he just smiles to himself and bends to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“Get some sleep, MC Hamer” he whispers. 

Hamish sighs out a muzzy, “Why are you like this?” and rubs his cheek over the blankets. 

If Randall watches him sleep, his heart is going to explode and it’s going to be sparkles and rainbows and flowers and fuzzy stuff everywhere, so he snatches a pair of sleep pants folded on Hamish’s dresser and pulls them on before slipping out into the hallway. 

The light turns off just before he flips the switch and his head snaps in Hamish’s direction. He almost misses the sleepy smirk on Hamish’s face. Almost. 

“Show off,” he mumbles, closing the door behind him, and heads back to his room to get a shirt. 

He also grabs two extra sweatshirts since he has no idea how long Gabrielle and Lilith have been wearing his, but they could probably use a wash since they’ve got tears and snot all over them now. 

He creeps down the stairs until he’s past all the squeaky ones and finds the Knights plus Two already deep into research mode. 

Lilith glares up at him. “You are the loudest person in bed in this entire house!”

“Sorry, Lil,” he says without meaning it at all and drops a sweatshirt on her head. He tosses the other one to Gabby. “It  _ is _ my werewolf-wedding night.”

“Then why are you here and not scarring us for life again?” she mumbles, sifting through a stack of papers. 

“He’s sleeping,” Randall replies, dropping onto the couch. 

“Good,” Alyssa says from behind her laptop. “We tried to give him a sleeping potion the other day.”

“How’d that go?” Randall asks, even though he has a strong feeling that he already knows.

“Not great,” she says with a wince. 

Yeah, that’s what Randall expected. “I’m ordering food. Is pizza fine with you guys or do you want something else?”

“Tacos,” Gabrielle demands from under the hood of Randall’s sweatshirt. “And when the love of your life wakes up, he can make us margaritas.”

“Can we get them from that place with the really good queso?” Lilith asks. 

“Yes!” Alyssa cheers. “Get, like, three orders of queso.”

“And guacamole,” Nicole adds. “But maybe just two of those?”

Lilith shakes her head. “Three. Definitely three.”

Randall glances at Jack. “What is it with people and avocados?”

“I have no idea,” he says. “It doesn’t taste like anything.”

“Right?” He rolls his eyes but adds three orders of guacamole to their order on his phone. “Hamish caught me up on Praxis. What do you think we should do about them?”

“Wait ‘em out. We’ve got Alpha’s hide and they weren’t after you or Hamish specifically. I think Travenner manipulated them into thinking they wanted the same thing when they really didn’t.”

“Maybe,” Randall allows. “But if Hamish is going to be the next Temple Magus, who’s to say they didn’t really want him out of the picture anyway?”

“I don’t know, man.” Jack heaves a sigh. “We should focus on finding out who she severed.”

“One was herself,” Randall says, letting someone snatch his phone so they can order their food. “It’s gotta be someone from Praxis.”

“Salvador got the hide from her dad,” Jack muses, “so it must have been in her family for a while. Could it have been a relative? An older brother or something?”

Alyssa looks up from where she’s tapping away on Randall’s phone. “She never mentioned any family, just her dad.”

Randall points at Jack’s laptop. “Can I…?”

Jack nods and passes it over.

“Is ‘Salvador Grant’ her real name?”

Alyssa snorts. “Do you think she’d tell me if it wasn’t?”

… fair enough. 

He types in ‘Grafton Davis’ instead and gets… a lot of results for people that don’t look anything like Salvador. This is going to take a while. 

The phone makes its way back to him when he’s still looking for an obituary and he pauses to add an assortment of tacos, two burritos, tamales and nachos before holding the phone out to Jack. 

For shits and grins, he tries ‘Salvador Grant’ and gets her name on the campus website as a TA but nothing else. 

Then he tries, ‘Salvador Davis,’ and still nothing. 

“Food’ll be here in about an hour,” Jack announces, setting Randall’s phone on the table. “Find anything?”

“No,” he says, scowling at the screen. “Did Salvador ever say anything about when her dad died?”

“Do we know for sure that he’s dead?” Lilith mumbles.

“How else would she…”

Randall looks up at the same time as everyone else and they all stare at each other for a minute. 

He sets the laptop down and stands up to pace. “OK, let’s… let’s think about this. The Travenners moved back after Hemmings died and before Praxis popped up on our radar. We know Mr. Wannabe-Werewolf-Destroyer was in Praxis, supposedly not super involved, but this is coming from a teenager who seems more interested in torturing people and asking really invasive questions about their boyfriends, plus she’s got a magic ‘I can lie no matter what’ sigil, so let’s assume she either doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about or she’s lying. 

“So, Salvador, being the daughter of a werewolf, would know that werewolves can perform powerful magic with minimal or no sacrifice. That gives her whole little movement credibility, right?”

Everyone nods slowly. 

  
“OK, so she wants a hide, and maybe her dad even wants her to have it but doesn’t want to die, again, presuming, but let’s just go with it for a minute. Travenner wants to sever a hide but she doesn’t have anyone to practice on. Boom! Mutual interests,” he points at Jack. “So they sever Alpha from Grafton, Salvador wears the hide, magic for the masses, apocalypse puppies, bang, she’s dead. Free werewolf hide for grabs. Travenner puts it on, takes the locker, and here we all are.”

“That’s…” Jack blinks rapidly. “Why would Salvador help Travenner if she was involved in the Order?”

“Because severing hides would destroy the Knights and give her a direct opening to Vera! Remember when they took Hamish? What if they came for all of us that night, but we were having a party and they couldn’t get close enough?”

Lilith shudders. “I am so glad I was in hell for all of this.”

Randall snatches an ice cube out of Jack’s water and throws it at her. “Still too soon!”

“Don’t stick your fingers in people’s drinks,” she cries, “we don’t know where they’ve been!”

Gabrielle rolls her eyes. “He only gets that loud when he’s getting fucked, not when he’s doing the fucking.”

“That is,” Randall throws an ice cube at her, “true, but we’re not talking about that, we are looking for dirt on Salvatore and her dad because I’m right, just like I was right about Selena and Angus and the poison not working on me and Hamish.”

“Fine,” Gabrielle snaps, throwing the ice back at him. “But if you’re wrong, you have to buy all of us drinks.”

“Deal.” Randall tosses the ice cube into the first cup he sees and goes back to the file he was originally going through. “Has anyone gone through their phones?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t find much.” Jack types something into his laptop, frowning. “What we really need is the husband’s cell phone, but we checked their cars, Travenner’s office, everywhere but her house.

“The lost phone app didn’t work?”

Jack shakes his head. “Phone must have died before it got to wherever it is now. Hey, since we know the lab isn’t in her basement, is there any reason we shouldn’t clear out her house?”

“Vera went through it before they put her on house arrest and didn’t find anything,” Alyssa adds. “If there was anything dangerous, she would have found it.”

“I’ll wind up there when this is over anyway,” Randall mumbles, scanning over the paper in front of him. Just formulas and equations. “We’ll go after dinner unless Hamish has any objections.”

Lilith scoffs. “He’s probably never going to let you leave the house again.”

“He has to,” Randall says simply, “he owes me dinner and a million dates.”

“Hey guys?” Nicole breaks in. “What was Hamish’s girlfriend’s name?”

“Cassie,” Randall answers. “Why?”

She holds up a file. “This is about her.”

He looks up sharply. 

If Randall had picked up that folder, he would have set it aside because of how thin it was. There can’t be more than a few pieces of paper in there.  And isn’t it amazing how something so light, so seemingly empty can suck all the air out of a room in an instant? 

“We should leave that for Hamish,” he says quietly. 

Nicole nods and sets it aside.

Gabrielle glances at Randall. “Has he ever told you…?”

All Randall knows is that she was killed by some Practitioners in the woods. Hamish never told him anything beyond that and he never asked. 

He shakes his head and goes back to his own stack of papers, trying not to think about it. 

“I only saw the first page,” Nicole says in a low voice, “but it looked like some kind of report.”

“Like an autopsy report?” Gabrielle asks.

She shrugs. “Maybe?”

Only families get copies of an autopsy report. And an autopsy would only be performed if she died in unusual or suspicious circumstances. Randall just assumed Hamish went with the “hit by a car” story, but that would involve police and they’d have to know she wasn’t killed by a car. 

Then again, he doesn’t know what killed her. Most spells don’t work on them once they wolf out, so she would have had to be human for something like that to have happened. But why would she go after Practitioners in the woods as herself and not as Timber?

And why does Travenner have a copy of her autopsy report?

Gabrielle catches his glancing at it and leans forward to whisper, “If it falls and the papers slide out, we’re not-”

“This isn't up for debate,” he hisses. “It’s none of our business.”

“But she was Timber’s champion,” Lilith reminds him, snatching the file before he can move it out of her reach, “so it is  _ my _ business.”

“Lilith!”   
  


She ignores him and opens the folder, eyes scanning the page in front of her quickly but she slows down on the second page, and Randall watches her face fall, mouth parting with shock and the color draining from her face before she closes it and shoves it back on the table.

“Lil?” Nicole grabs her shoulder. “What is it?”

“They severed her.” She stares down at the floor, eyes blazing. “They hit her and Hamish with sleeping spells. They … cut him up and healed him and then they took her and severed her.”

Randall’s stomach drops. 

Jack drags his hands through his hair. “It’s not supposed to kill you.”

“It didn’t,” she says in a thin, seething voice. “She escaped. It doesn’t say what happened to her after that.”

Gabrielle swipes the folder off the table and opens it. “Travenner wrote this. She must have sent her son and his lackeys after her.”

Randall really, really wishes he didn’t know any of this. 

“The autopsy says she was hit by a car,” Gabrielle mumbles, confused. “I wonder if they hit her with a crushing incantation.”

“Why, though?” Alyssa pulls her legs up onto her chair and wraps her arms around them. “They needed her alive.”

“This is all my fault,” Lilith whispers.

Nicole grabs her hands. “The only people responsible for this are the Travenners.”

“She’s right,” Randall says gently. “Lilith, you have been to literal hell and back. This isn’t on you.”

“I should have listened closer,” she insists. “Timber knew, Randall, and I didn’t listen! You almost died, and it’s all my -”

“Hey,” he breaks in, leaning down to go on more quietly, “what did you do after they took me?”

“Tracked you down and dragged that bitch off of you and hit the building with lightning after we got everything out of there.”

That last part is news to him… “You struck the lab with lightning? Holy shit, way to go, Pikachu!”

“Seriously, you idiot?” she snaps. “I’m freaking out and you’re making shitty jokes?”

“First of all, fuck you, Pikachu is awesome. Second of all, yes, I am. Third of all, you guys saved me and I'm fine now, that's what's important. And fourth of all, listen to your girlfriend because she’s smarter than all of us.”

“You know,” Nicole says to Randall, “I thought it would be weird hanging out together after we got Lilith back since I stole her from you, but you’re alright.”

“When you put it like that,” Randall mumbles, “it does sound like we shouldn’t be friends. At all. Why do I like you?”

“Because you know she upgraded,” she replies in a loud whisper, “and you never would have saved her without me.”

Jack claps Randall on the shoulder. “Both of those are true.”

“Yeah, they really are, but, guys, Hamish doesn’t know about Cassie. I don’t know what happened between her escaping and dying, but he has no idea they severed her. I don’t think he even knows they took her anywhere.”

“No, that I knew,” Hamish’s voice calls over from the stairs, steady and clipped. 

Fuck.

This is going to be awful. 

Randall grabs the folder and meets Hamish halfway. “I told them-”

“I heard.”

“Sorry we woke you up,” he offers lamely. 

Hamish shakes his head, jaw clenched as he takes the folder. “I’d rather hear it from you guys than read about it.”

He stalks across the room, throwing the folder on the table, and makes a beeline to the bar. “I woke up in a pool of my own blood and no visible wounds, which I chalked up to my healing factor since I didn’t know how long I’d been out.” 

Randall walks after him. “Hamish, you don’t-”

“I went after Cassie and we literally ran into each other.” His hands shake as he sloshes vodka into shot glasses lined up on the bar. “She was crying so hard I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, and then Ryan Travenner showed up with his friends and started firing off spells.”

“Hamish,” Randall tries again, grabbing his shoulders and trying to turn him around to face him. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have-”

“Cassie got caught in the crossfire, and until this exact moment in time, I thought she just didn’t wolf out in time.” He leans heavily against the bar, staring hard at the shots he just poured. “So I guess we know why they left that photo on my desk now.”

Randall ducks under his arm and squeezes between him and the bar, grabbing his face. “I’m sorry, Hamish. I’m sorry it happened, and I’m sorry you found out like this. I’m so, so sorry.”

Hamish finally looks at him, and he looks exhausted and haunted, like he hasn’t slept in weeks and if he tried to stand up straight, his legs wouldn’t be able to hold him. Like all the years of fighting and hunting and wondering caught up to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because what the hell else is there to say? How does he fix this? “If you want to go to the Temple and kill them right now, I’m right behind you. We don’t need to know anything else.”

“It was right there the whole time, right in front of my face, and I didn’t see it.” 

“No one would have seen that,” Randall insists, tracing his thumb over the shadows on his face, wishing he could wipe them away. “It’s not your job to know everything.”

“My job was to protect her, and you, and our friends, and all I’ve done is drag us into one fucking disaster after another.”

Distract him, distract him, distract... "Honestly, Hamish, we were doing pretty good until Jack showed up, so I think if we’re going to blame anyone, it should be him.”

Hamish chokes out a laugh - oh thank god - and shakes his head. 

“OK, fine,” Randall sighs dramatically. “I will take thirty percent of the blame since I recruited him. But you recruited me, so let’s say you have… fifteen percent.”

He shakes his head, the ghost of a smile lingers on his face. “That seems fair.”

“Good. And as far as everything else goes,” he wraps his arms around Hamish and goes on, hopefully quiet enough for just him to hear, “you never should have been leading the Knights on your own. And it’s not because you aren’t good enough, Hamish, it’s because it’s too much for one person to carry. But you’ve got us, you’ve got me, so just… let me help you from now on. Please.” 

Hamish starts to say something, draws in a breath and squares his shoulders like he’s going to deflect or argue, but the last string holding him together snaps and he collapses against Randall, arms going tight around him. 

Randall sinks a hand into his hair and stokes up and down his back with the other. "No one's ever going to come for us again, Hamish. I promise."

"They will," Hamish says, burying his face against Randall's neck, "but I swear to god, if anyone touches you again, I'm going to murder everyone on this goddamn campus."

Geez. Why is murder-talk so hot? 

“ My goal is for us to be a scarier couple than you and Vera so people will leave us alone from now on.”

“Randall, I love you, but you’re not scary.”

“I can be!”

“You are occasionally intimidating at best.” Hamish lifts his head from Randall’s shoulder to look at him. “Please tell me you ordered food.”

“Mexican,” he confirms. “We got, like, a gallon of queso.”

Gabrielle sighs loudly and says, “Wouldn't it be great if we had some margaritas, too?”

“We have to take these shots, first,” Hamish says just as loudly and then to Randall, “You mind taking mine?”

He shakes his head and grabs the two shot glasses closes to him while everyone gathers around the bar. 

Lilith grabs Hamish’s arm but before she can say anything, he tells her in a deadly serious voice, “Pikachu was always my favorite Pokémon.”

She gives him an outraged look and growls out, “You two deserve each other.”

"Yeah," Randall says lightly. "We really do."

Hamish clears his throat and lifts his glass. “To Cassie. You guys didn't know her, but... we wouldn't be here without her."

Everyone clinks their glasses and Randall downs his and Hamish’s shots in quick succession.


	15. In which Hamish has healthy yet questionable coping mechanisms and revenge is sweet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... this is it. The end of our little journey. Up next is the epilogue. 
> 
> I left a few loose ends so there's room to grow and expand in the future, whether I write it or you all imagine it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this story! It means the world to me that you've enjoyed it. Your comments made me laugh, made me tear up, and motivated me to keep going. 
> 
> We might not get a third season (curse you, Netflix!), but we can create our own stories. I hope you all share yours in your own ways. :)

It’s three o’clock in the morning and Randall can’t sleep.

He’s completely healed up from almost dying and now his body is back to its usual demands of, ‘Hey, let’s go run five miles or play video games or wolf out or climb a tree or study or check your emails - you probably have a million emails - or rearrange the living room!’ since it doesn’t realize most people just chill at three in the morning. 

More than that, though, he’s worried about Hamish, who has been sleeping fitfully for the past four hours, tossing and turning so hard Randall wasn’t sure he was actually sleeping at first. He thought he just couldn’t get comfortable and he was about to offer that they give up and go do something, but Hamish is out cold and Randall won’t leave. He wants to be there if Hamish wakes up in case he needs to talk. Or wolf out in the woods and howl until he loses his voice (it works for Lilith), or stare miserably out the window without saying a word (Jack’s favorite), or cry (Gabrielle will never admit it but when she hits her breaking point, she just want to bawl her eyes out while someone holds her), or whatever it is Hamish does when he hits rock bottom. Granted last time something like this happened was probably when he took up drinking enough to give an elephant cirrhosis, so hopefully Hamish’s outlet is something less destructive and addictive. (And not punching a wall.)

Somewhere around one, Randall couldn’t take it anymore and threw his arm around Hamish’s stomach, burrowing close with the hope that Hamish would smell him or feel him and relax. Or maybe Tundra would feel Greybeard and they’d radiate enough lovey-dovey werewolf vibes to settle Hamish’s completely understandable inner turmoil. It helped at first, but the way he clung back to Randall was more than a little heartbreaking. 

Hamish flinches, shoulder jerking like he’s pulling away from something in his subconscious, and Randall murmurs under his breath, “It’s OK, Hambone,” because nothing will pull him out of a bad dream faster than not only a bad nickname but one he’s used before. 

He relaxes in increments, expression clearing and fingers unclenching from where they’re fisted in the material of Randall’s t-shirt as he shifts closer once more. He breathes out a sigh so soft that Randall nearly misses it before settling back into a more restful state. 

Over their earlier feast, they devised a solid plan of questioning for each of the Travenners and Angus and Selena. Jenny’s their best bet for spilling all the details, they just have to get her talking and let her dig herself deeper into that pit. Unfortunately, they’ll also have to deal with her twisted sense of humor and curiosity, and Randall had to warn Hamish in particular that she knows enough about their relationship to try to use it against them - like Hamish really needed another thing to torture himself over - or throw them off balance. 

“Are we positive,” Jack had asked over his second margarita, “that she meant Cassie when she said she’s done it twice?”

“No, but we are,” Randall paused to do some mental math, “eighty-eight percent sure.”

So that’s objective one - confirm the number of werewolf severing victims and their identities.

The second objective is to get the names of whoever helped them in Praxis. Everyone agreed that their best bet for that will be Travenner, but getting her to talk is going to be difficult. She knows they’re going to kill her and Jenny so there’s nothing they can bargain with except a quick death, so their only option is the glove. 

They deserve it, he knows they deserve all the pain in the world and then some, but if Randall sees that glove again, he might have to let Greybeard handle it again. 

The room went totally silent when he said so, except for the sound of him crunching away on the last of the nachos, which he’d also drowned in the last of the queso - they probably could have ordered more of that, oh well - and then he chased it with the last of his own margarita. “These are good, babe, did you do something different?”

“New tequila,” Hamish mumbled. “What do you mean, you’ll let Greybeard handle it?”

Oh, yeah, he didn’t tell them this part. Oops. “He took over when I was getting tortured.”

Hamish shook his head, confused. “Randall, you couldn’t wolf out.”

“I didn’t. He… I guess he possessed me. I was still there and I felt everything, but it was kind of like a mental tap out.” He shrugged and poured himself another margarita out of the pitcher. “He told me you guys were there, but she kept doing that time spell every time you tried to get through the door.”

“How many times did she cast it?” Alyssa asked.

“No idea. Anyway, fair warning, that might happen tomorrow. Cheers!”

Thinking back on it, that probably didn’t make Hamish feel any better, either. Damn it…. 

Objective three is finding out how many people know about the poison, the severing, all of it, which is probably something they’ll need to pick all of their brains about. He’s not worried about Angus and Selena, those two will do anything to save their own hides - ha… get it? Because… never mind - and stay in the Order. Too bad though, because Greybeard still really wants that skull cup and Randall owes him big time. 

Sometime after that was settled, Lilith excused herself to get started on dishes and Hamish discreetly followed her a few moments later. Nicole turned up the TV to drown out whatever they were talking about and Randall flashed her a grateful smile. If Hamish or Lilith wanted to share later, that would be their choice. Just like the folder should have been, despite Hamish’s insistence that he would have told them whatever was in the file anyway. 

For her part, Gabrielle made Hamish a non-alcoholic old fashioned using overly strong barley tea - apparently that is not only a thing that exists but also a thing that lives in their cupboard - instead of whiskey, which is as much of an apology as you’ll get from her. Hamish deemed it, “Not bad,” and even drank a second one. 

The hand in his shirt falls away as Hamish rolls onto his back. This time he’s really awake, or mostly awake, given that he rubs his eye and heaves a long, beleaguered sigh just before his head lolls in Randall’s direction. 

“You OK?” Randall whispers.  
  


“I don't know,” he replies just as quietly. “I’m just…”

“Processing?” Randall offers.

He nods. “Can I run a theory by you?”

“Of course, Babeish.”

“That is the worst one you’ve ever come up with -”

“Challenge accepted.”

“- and I never want to hear it again.” 

“Fine,” he says with a mostly exaggerated dejected sigh - personally, he thinks it was clever. Hamish has no appreciation for creativity. “What’s on your mind?”

Hamish props himself up on his elbow. “Cassie got away and it took two weeks for anyone to find Ryan’s body. Two weeks, Randall. Travenner has magic, she could have found him in minutes.” 

He’s right. That is… “No parent would sit around for two weeks waiting for their kid to come home.”

“Some parents would, but let’s not blow through every single one of my personal issues in one night” Hamish says with a dismissive wave. “She must have tracked him or Cassie with magic.”

Randall taps Hamish’s hand. “I have an invasive question.”

“Go for it.”

“What did you do with Cassie’s body?”

“I moved her to the road and staged it like she’d been hit by a car and left there. That’s what we agreed we’d do if something happened to one of us, since we both have family.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Three cars went by before someone noticed her. I thought I was going to have to wolf out and get hit before anyone stopped.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” He leaves his hand draped over his eyes and goes on, “Travenner could have seen me leaving her there and followed me back to the house. I wouldn’t have noticed. I just… do you really want to hear this part?”

Randall has no idea what ‘this part’ is, but he has a sinking feeling it’s not going to be pretty. As much as he wishes he could make this all go away, he could do something to make this hurt less, this is one thing he can’t save Hamish from. All he can do is hold Hamish’s hand so wherever they wind up, at least he’ll know Randall’s there with him.

“I do if you want to tell me, but if you’re not ready to talk about it, then no.”

“I’m never going to be ready, but I think it’s relevant.”

Randall hates this. He’s going to rip Travenner’s heart out and wrap it in a bow and give it to Hamish so he can stomp on it or bite it in half or, or, bring her back to life with some gnarly spell and kill her six more times. 

Hamish takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I saw, and then I took Timber’s hide out of his locker, and we went up to her room and I drank so much it should have killed me. I was so drunk when her friends called to tell me she was dead that they called nine-one-one, and then the EMTs showed up to find me drunk, sobbing, and hugging what appeared to be a wolfskin rug. Then I had to go for a psych eval, and the cops got involved because apparently it was suspicious how upset I was and they swabbed my car and all that, but my point is, Travenner and her husband could have been watching me those entire two weeks and I wouldn’t have known. Even if Tundra possessed me, marched us out to where she was hiding and dragged her onto the front porch, I probably would have just gone back inside and kept drinking and crying and carrying Timber around.”

Randall tries not to picture it. It’s hard enough to think of Hamish like that, alone and devastated in the first place that probably ever felt like home to him, feeling like he failed Cassie, but the thought inevitably leads him back to what he’d do if it was Hamish, and he can’t go there right now. Or ever, preferably. 

“The two weeks,” Hamish clears his throat and goes on in a stronger voice, “the two weeks thing is because Travenner knew Ryan and Cassie were dead and that she left a witness and she had to make sure I didn’t know anything, and then she probably decided to get out of town before I ran out of vodka, just in case.”

“And then her husband joined Praxis. Or Praxis recruited them. If Jenny takes after her dad, he probably walked in and announced to the whole room what they were planning.”

Hamish scoffs and finally drops his hand from his face to look at him. “I’ve been trying not to compare what happened to her with what happened to you, but… it was worse this time. With you. Cassie’s was quick. Quick for me, anyway. She, god, she was probably terrified. I guess… in a way, I’m glad she was just running on adrenaline and it was fast. 

“And, and mostly I think it’s mostly because we’ve known each other longer, but Cassie... she was a tea fiend. Her favorite was this white tea with peaches. That’s what she always smelled like to me. I had a breakdown the first time I went through the produce section of the store after she died, but now I just avoid peaches. It’s a pretty easy fix. 

“But you,” he presses his hand to the side of Randall’s face, “you smell like home to me. Like our friends and our house and the woods and you were just starting to smell like me, too. And if you… if you died, I’d wake up every morning thinking you’re still here, and you wouldn’t be.”

Randall shifts closer till the tips of their noses meet. “I’m still here, Hamish.”

“Yeah,” he nods, sniffing. “I know, I just… Is it wrong that I just want to focus on being relieved that you’re OK and happy that this is almost over? If I have to go through losing her again… I don’t think I’ll be able to get out of bed for a week if I have to do that again.” 

“That’s not wrong, baby, that’s coping,” he murmurs, propping himself up on his elbow. “But if the other stuff gets to be too much and you have to stay in bed for a week, you can do that, too. I’ll make sure you drink and eat and throw a cleaning spell your way every now and then until you feel better. We’ll just take it a day at a time.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that two-hundred dollar bottle of scotch I was saving for a special occasion, too.”

“The one with the really pretty label?”

“Yepp,” he replies with a raspy laugh. “Maybe I’ll bring it along when we go wrap up our loose ends, so to speak. You guys can have a glass of what promised to be a rich, heavy, sweet whiskey, and I will have… a coke.”

“We could make you another mocktail,” Randall offers. “Or we could just not drink.”

“No, we haven’t had a good après-kill in a while. It’ll be nice to get back to our roots.” 

“Then maybe we should start a new après-kill tradition, just the two of us. You know, like after we killed Alpha and you pushed me up against that tree.”

  
“Sure, but,” Hamish finally smiles and drags his thumb over Randall’s lips, “no interrupting friends next time.”

“That’s the second time he’s interrupted us, you know.”

“Thirty percent your fault.”

Randall nods solemnly. “And fifteen percent yours.”

“What about you? How are you holding up?”

“Pssht, I’m great. I’m just ready to go fuck shit up.”

“Is that why you weren’t sleeping?”

“Mostly I was worried about you, but Hamish,” he groans, “I was sleeping for nine days. I’m sick of sleeping.”

“No, you were hallucinating and feverish for nine days.”

“I’ll sleep if you sleep.”

“I can’t, I’m wrestling with my traumatic past.”

Oh, great, an attempt at humor. Guess they’re done talking. He’s a sneaky guy, that Hamish Duke. In his defense, today - yesterday? Whatever, everything’s been heavy for a while, and Hamish just put a lot of equally heavy stuff on the table. If he wants to deflect, he can deflect, but does he have to make lame jokes to do it?

Ugh. 

As much as it pains Randall to do it - and believe him, it does, because he loves Hamish with all of his heart and soul, but he’s just not funny and therefore must be stopped before he can ever make a terrible joke again -, he pulls the pillow out from under him and tries to gently smother Hamish with it. 

Unfortunately, Hamish is a worthy adversary and flips them over, pinning Randall’s hands to the mattress, which is A Thing for Randall. Maybe his coping strategy isn’t actually focusing on the positives and accepting bad days will come - wow, that is remarkably healthy, who taught Hamish that? - and it’s really throwing people around in bed. Or exploiting Randall’s weaknesses, he seems to enjoy that.

Hamish smirks down at him. “Want to try that again?”

Oh, OK, so they’re doing this. Cool.

Randall rolls his eyes and pushes hard with his feet against Hamish’s hips, forcing him to settle his weight somewhere other than his hands so he can break loose, and surges forward to knock him onto his back. The trick Hamish always forgets is you don’t pin a werewolf by the wrists with your hands, it’s too easy. You’ve gotta get your knees on his arms and basically sit on his chest. (Note, this only works if you are also a werewolf and therefore equally equipped with super strength. If you are a human and try this, you’ll just get eaten. This is not Randall’s problem.)

“Oof!” Hamish grunts, squirming as he tries to wriggle loose. “Not bad.”

Randall shrugs and brushes some invisible dirt off his shoulder. “You give?”

“Nope.”

Wait, that sounds smug. Why is he being-

Oh, because he’s just going to throw Randall off to the side and use the element of surprise to pin him again with one hand. Yeah, Randall would be smug if he thought of that, too. Except he’s not a cheater, so you know, he wouldn’t.

Randall is about to call him out on being a dirty, rotten cheater, but then there are lips crashing against his. And there’s a hand on the side of his face, thumb stroking along his cheek. And the mouth moving against his is warm and inviting, and even when the steel grip pinning his wrists over his head relaxes, he can’t be bothered to break free. He lets Hamish kiss him and touch his face and hold him down, and when he pulls back to stare down at him, Randall leans up to nuzzle him, grinning when it gets him a soft chuckle. He does it back, though, and maybe it’s a werewolf thing, but there’s a tenderness to it that makes Randall’s breath catch the same way it does when Hamish kisses his hand or his forehead or tells him he’s the world to him. 

Hamish finally lets him go and lays down at his side, forehead resting against Randall’s temple and his hand splayed over his hip. Randall rolls onto his side so they’re nose-to-nose again, and the last thing he sees before he falls back to sleep is Hamish drifting off with him. 

* * *

Word must have gotten around that Randall was dying because when he and the Knights + 2 walk into the Temple in the morning, the air goes staticky, buzzing with questions and shock and surprise and maybe even disappointment as everyone watches them make their way towards Vera’s office. 

He’s not sure why it’s so crowded this morning, but he also doesn’t give a shit. No, actually, he takes that back. He’s _glad_ there are so many people here because they’ll probably hear Travenner and her daughter and Angus and Selena screaming. Maybe they’ll remember from now on that before being loyal, faithful servants of the Order and defenders against bad magic, they’re werewolves and you just do not mess with werewolves.

Vera’s doors swing open as they approach to reveal the woman herself sitting expectantly at her desk, flanked by a few Council members Randall never bothered to learn the names of and Xavier and Orbin looking like they just stepped out of a landscaping special on HGTV. 

He hears Jack mumble, “This fucking guy…” under his breath and clears his throat to cover his laugh. 

Hamish throws them both a Look - “Shut up, this is serious,” tinged with “What the hell are you assholes laughing about?” served with a side of, “Why are they wearing hats indoors, let’s talk shit about them later.” - and turns to Vera. “Good morning, Grand Magus.”

“Well,” she says warmly, surveying all of them standing before her, “I have to say, you all look much better than the last time I saw you. Particularly you, Mr. Carpio. It’s nice to see you back on your feet.”

Randall glances at Hamish and back at her. “When did you…?”

“When you were bleeding all over the backseat of my car on the ride home.”

Oops. “Sorry?”

She laughs, bright and clear like ice clinking in a glass. “For once, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Did Vera adopt him like she did with Jack and no one told him? Is that appropriate given he’s werewolf-married to her ex-colleague with benefits? Wait, employee with benefits? Frenemies with benefits? 

Xavier takes off his hat and addresses Randall - shit, he’s probably going to have to respond -, “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to help you. I hope the flowers at least brightened your spirits.”

“They did,” he says slowly, pleading with Hamish for help with his eyes because he doesn’t want to get turned into a tree, “and I named the cactus Spike, so… thank you. For those. They’re great.”

Hamish’s eyes glow with pure glee at Randall’s plight, but his hand brushes against his supportively as he adds, “As you can see, we found a solution on our own.”

“And has your other problem,” Vera says pointedly, “has also resolved itself?”

“Yes,” Hamish replies soundly. “We’ll be more than happy to catch you up on everything in private after we collect on that deal you made with Randall.”

One of the Councilors holds up a hand. “What deal is he talking about?”

Randall nearly bites out, “None of your business,” but Hamish cuts him off, “We were promised the opportunity to deal with whoever was behind the attacks.”

“And by ‘deal with,’” the other Councilor begins, crossing her arms, “I assume you mean ‘kill’?”

This time Randall doesn’t stop himself. “That is exactly what we mean.”

Her jaw drops, sputtering as she turns to Vera. “Grand Magus, we haven’t decided yet how to deal with the Medicums! You can’t just-”

“We can,” Hamish assures her, “but we won’t if they can give us a good reason why we shouldn’t between now and the end of our interrogation.”

Vera throws him a warning glance. “You’re close to overstepping.”

“This isn’t the first time they’ve undermined you and, by extension, the Order.”

“Be that as it may, they are still students and I cannot just kill every student who gets a little rebellious. If I did, I’m certain the seven of you would not be standing in front of me.” She stands and comes closer, lowering her voice to add, “I recognize how personal this is for you, but do not waste your energy on a battle if it'll cost you the war."

Randall should get a medal for not rolling his eyes. So should Greybeard. He’ll settle for Hamish’s pinky wrapping around his, though. The contact only settles Greybeard for all of seven seconds before he goes back to wanting to throw down. 

Jack steps forward. “What about wiping their memories?” 

“It’s on the table, depending on what they have to say for themselves. For now, let’s just focus on getting the answers we need, shall we?” She turns back to the Councilors and the Tree Huggers. “Let’s pick this up over lunch, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and leads them towards the Reliquary which apparently has a Pit of Despair somewhere. Hopefully that’s not something any of them are accidentally going to fall into one of these days. 

“Hey, one a scale of root canal to Hell, how bad is the Pit of Despair?” he asks no one in particular. “Is it worse than the Fear Corridor?”

“You can get out of the Fear Corridor,” Alyssa replies. “The Pit locks from the outside.”

Worse it is, then. “Jenny’s still a werewolf, right?”

“She’s shackled up in the anti-werewolf chains.”

“What if-”

“Trust me, Mr. Carpio,” Vera cuts in with a sharp smile, snatching the glove off a table as she passes by. “No one is in any shape to take them off of her.”

Well. If Vera says so, then that is probably true, not that he can process much more than the glove. How can Lilith and Alyssa and Jack just ignore it like that? They know how it feels, what it does, how can they keep walking like it’s nothing? 

Hamish leans toward him to murmur, “Don’t look at it.”

Randall shakes himself. 

“It’s OK,” he whispers, hooking his arm around Randall’s neck. “We’re right here.”

Greybeard practically buzzes out of his skin from super mega-excited, happy werewolf vibes. Guess Hamish wasn’t referring to their friends.

“Hey,” Gabrielle snaps her fingers in their faces, “names first, blood and foreplay later.”

Vera mumbles over her shoulder, “Like there’s a difference with those two…”

Hamish rolls his eyes - would he dare do that to her face? Randall would pay to watch that - and asks, “What was that meeting about?”

“You,” she says simply. “We’re voting tonight.”

“Tonight?” he repeats, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Tonight,” she confirms. “There’s been discussion about where your true loyalties lie, so I decided to squash the concerns before they get out of control.”

Jack catches Randall’s eye and grimaces. “What do the Sons of Prometheus have to do with it?”

“It was in our best interest to clear up any… rumors about the reason for Hamish’s visits lately.” 

“He went there for help,” Lilith says incredulously. “Why else would he be doing there?”

“They’re grasping at straws,” Vera replies dismissively, strolling down the Fear Corridor like it’s nothing. “I trust you all remembered your access sigils?”

Shit, where’s his -

Gabrielle clears her throat and he looks over to see it dangling from her finger. 

\- sigil…  
  


She smirks. “Wouldn’t want to get locked out of your sex den, would you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches it out of her hand as Vera leads them through the corridor and further into the Reliquary until they get to the farthest, darkest corner - of course that’s where the Pit of Despair would be - and pricks her finger, smearing the blood in three concentric circles on a door as she murmurs an incantation Randall’s never heard before and steps back. 

The door creaks open to release a rush of sharp, frigid air that whips past them with a hiss. 

Randall leans forward to check if he can see all the way down, but Hamish grabs him by the elbow before he can step in to look closer. Not that he can see anything, which is troubling given that he usually sees everything, even in pitch black darkness. 

Gabrielle tugs her jacket tighter around her. “They’re coming up here, right?”

Alyssa pats her shoulder. “You can wait up here if you’re too scared.”

“I am not scared, I’m just not dressed for the cold and I have a hard time being menacing when I’m freezing my tits off!” She crosses her arms and cocks her hip. “Why? Should we be scared?” 

“Relax Miss Dupres,” Vera calls over her shoulder as she descends the stairs. “I removed the enchantment for now. Wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting distracted by an overwhelming sense of dread and depression, now, would we?”

Gabrielle sniffs indignantly and stomps after her, chin held high, as she snaps at Randall, “Hurry up, I have a paper to write when we’re done here!”

But then she stops and says, “Actually, you come down last for dramatic effect. Hamish, look sad and like you want to murder someone.”

He’s about to argue that he never goes anywhere last, he goes first to check things out, but she’s gone. Jack and Alyssa follow her down, and then Nicole and Lilith - she throws Randall a quick, reassuring smile - and now it’s just him and Hamish. 

Hamish’s lips quirk up but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing I always look sad and like I want to murder someone. It's a big part of my charm”

“You’re just as charming with this,” Randall points out, tapping the corner of his mouth. “And there’s no way in hell you’re going down there before me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans in and gives Randall a quick kiss. “Almost done, baby.”

He nods and brushes his hand over Hamish’s cheek. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Hamish replies, gently pushing him towards the door.

_This will be, perhaps, the most satisfying kill of my life._

Yeah. Randall’s too. 

He steps through the doorway and climbs down the winding, rickety staircase. Down and down and down and a scream pierces through the thick blanket of darkness - Selena, he thinks -, and Hamish groans, “They couldn’t wait two more minutes?” He sounds so petulant and disappointed that Randall can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of him.

  
It takes about three turns down the staircase, he thinks, before they hit solid ground and the darkness evaporates instantly. 

Gabrielle looks up from where she’s grabbing Selena’s shoulder, metal gauntlet engulfing her entire forearm. It would be cute, like a little girl wearing her mom’s heels if Randall wasn’t acutely aware of what that feels like, but Selena’s not bleeding. She’s barely even crying. But then she looks up at him and she has the nerve to look relieved, like the fact that he’s alive is enough to save her life. Like she didn’t poison him and drag him away to get tortured and it didn’t nearly kill him and it wouldn’t have ruined Hamish’s life and his friends’ lives, and how _dare_ she look happy to see him. 

Or Angus, that fucking prick slumps in his chair and sighs, “Oh thank god,” and what the hell is he so thankful for? 

It sets his teeth on edge, and Greybeard is… Greybeard rages at the sight of them, and he just gets angrier when his eyes find Travenner, jaw dropping in shock to see him standing there, and Jenny just _laughs_ and shakes her head like this is a joke to her. 

Alpha, though? Alpha’s terrified. Greybeard can smell it, pungent and heavy where it hangs in the air around them. Randall feels Hamish tense behind him and he just knows Tundra smells it, too. He glances over his shoulder and Hamish’s eyes are pure steel, even as he touches the small of Randall’s back, and the rage instantly settles into laser-eyed focus. 

Gabrielle grins but it’s all Midnight as she tightens her grip on Selena’s shoulder. “She says she didn’t mean for you to get hurt, isn’t that sweet?”

“Ask about Praxis and move on,” Hamish growls from behind him. 

She rolls her eyes - that’s probably Midnight, too - and asks in a bored tone, “Do you know who from Praxis helped Travenner?”

“No!” Selena wails. “No, I have no idea. I swear, she said you were going feral and you were going to attack everyone, and I just, I just didn’t want to get attacked or eaten!”

Bold of her to assume both of those are off the table. 

Greybeard is getting impatient so he jerks his head for Gabby to move on to Angus.

She grabs him roughly by the arm and snaps, “Who helped Travenner?”

“I, I, I don’t know,” Angus stammers. “Seriously, Jenny just told us Randall and Hamish were losing it because she had the hide that controls the Knights-”

A low, rumbling snarl accompanies the barest prick of claws on Randall’s back.

“- and, and, and if we didn’t do something, they’d kill everyone in the Order.” He gestures widely at Randall. “He’s fine! Right, Carpio? You’re good, we’re good, just a -”

Tundra shoves Randall behind him and roars over whatever else Angus was about to say. 

Jack kicks Angus’s chair. “Told you he didn’t like you.”

“Oooh, possessive,” Jenny tuts. “That’s a big red flag!”

He huffs out an annoyed growl and turns back to Randall, lowering his head to nuzzle over the side of his face.

Randall leans into it and shrugs. “I dig it.”

The lick that follows, however, _that_ he could do without. 

“Charming,” Vera says dryly. “Miss Durov and Mr. Carter, if you have nothing else to contribute, I think it’s best we clear out. 

“Miss Drake, if you and Miss Birch would be so kind as to assist me in relocating these two, I think between the three of us, we can come up with a fitting punishment.”

Alyssa grabs Selena and Nicole takes Angus, and they follow Vera, who throws a quick, “Don’t forget to clean up after yourselves!” over her shoulder as they march back up the stairs.

Tundra nudges Randall forward and they, along with Lilith, and Gabrielle, close in around Travenner and Jenny. Travenner’s lower lip trembles and she’s shaking so hard her chair rattles against the floor. 

Tundra’s shadow recedes and when Randall looks up, Hamish is back and glowering at Travenner with an intensity Randall’s never seen before. 

He tilts his head towards Randall without so much as blinking and murmurs in a low voice, “I won’t use it if you don’t want me to, but -”

Randall shakes his head. “Do what you need to do.”

Hamish kisses his temple and holds his hand out for Gabrielle to pass the glove over, which she does without a single word or the slightest bit of hesitation. 

He pulls the glove on, flexing his fingers and watching the joints in the metal shift with the movement, and stalks towards Travenner, slinking behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders with a deep sigh. She jumps, or she would jump if she wasn’t chained to her chair.

“Why did you tell your daughter that Ryan hunted Cassie? Why didn’t you tell her what really happened?”

Jenny looks over sharply. 

Travenner swallows and stammers out, “I, I, I… my husband would never have g-gotten her involved if they thought we, we, we failed. So I told them b-both that he hunted her down and died in the fight.”

“What’s he talking about?” Jenny demands, writhing in her chains. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You didn’t fail, though,” Hamish corrects her, voice deadly serious. “You severed her."

“I gave her a gift!” Travenner wails. “I freed her from being a monster!”

His knuckles go white on Travenner’s shoulders, grip tightening so hard that Randall hears the bones creak under the pressure, as he bites out at Jenny, “Your brother wasn’t hunting a werewolf that night. He was trying to catch my girlfriend after your mother severed her and she escaped. He didn’t kill a werewolf, he murdered the fiercest, wildest, most loving and beautiful person in the world. She… she had two older brothers and parents who loved her more than anything. She taught ballet classes three nights a week, and there were always at least six kids clinging to her when I came to pick her up. Her favorite thing to do on a Friday night was move the furniture against the wall and make me dance with her and take shots of tequila between songs. 

“Hey, doc, does that sound like a monster to you?”

She scrambles to come up with a response as the skin under the glove glows red and smokes and she screams, loud and shrill, but it’s the smell that gets Randall. The smell of her flesh burning, her _soul_ burning, and he has to look away from where the heat waves waft around Hamish’s gloved hand. 

The smell clings to the air even when he lets go and she stops screaming, and Randall looks back to find Hamish’s eyes on him. He nods for him to keep going because no matter what anyone tells you, whatever you read in books or say in your prayers, there are times when moving on just isn’t good enough. You can’t forgive, forget, move on and live your best life when something so big, so important was taken from you. You can carve a handful of flesh out of someone and heal them, you can stitch over a wound, put a bandage on it, cauterize it, but the body remembers, the soul remembers when something was taken. This is one of those times where magic finally gets something right - everything has a price. Call it revenge, murder, retribution, but at the end of the day, it’s all just a price. Randall can suck it up long enough for Hamish to get even. 

Jenny gapes at Hamish and then her mother and back at him, mouth opening and closing and opening and finally snapping shut.

“How long did your daughter do this to my boyfriend?”

“It isn’t, I mean, the spell is, is... I’d have to…” she shakes her head. “Around twelve hours, may-maybe?”

The glove doesn’t react, but the bones under Hamish’s hand snap with a loud, echoing crack, and she howls, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re lucky he survived,” Hamish snarls. “He’s the one who’s going to kill you. Not me. If he died, I would have let you rot down here for the rest of your life. Aren’t you glad he isn’t dead?”

The stuttered out, “Yes,” is barely audible. 

“How many people from Praxis helped you?”

“Five.”

“Mother!” Jenny cries. “What are you doing?”

“Be quiet, Jenny!” She glances desperately around the group. “Three of them died, we, we, practiced on them. The reports are in my office, everything is in my office, in the safe, I’ll take you, you’ll-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hamish cuts in. “All the names are in your office?”

“Yes!”

“Of everyone?”

“Everyone involved, yes! It’s all there.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

She shakes her head and stammers out, “No. No one else.”

“Did you sever anyone else besides yourself and Cassie?”

“Yes,” she blubbers. “His name is, is Gregory Bashmet. He was Grafton Davis’s nurse in the last few years of his life. He and Salvador Grant were, were, were close.”

Randall knows that name… he signed the contracts on Praxis’s behalf. It’s a revolving door of representatives for meetings but that guy is always there, and he’s willing to bet he’s the asshole who told Hamish he wouldn’t give him the ingredients for the cure-all either. 

“Does Gregory Bashmet or anyone else know how to make the poison?”

“No, no one knows. Just me and my family. Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but don’t you want a choice? Don’t you, don’t you wish you could be human sometimes? You could get married and have a family, or, or-”

“This is my family,” he snarls. “How do you know Gregory didn’t tell anyone about this?”

“Because you ruined it! We, we were about to start over.” She laughs miserably. “It should have worked, it should have severed you or him or both of you and it didn’t! You should both be dead.”

That’s it. 

It’s just two people. And they think it doesn’t work.

It’s over.

A hand nudges Randall’s and he finds Lilith looking up at him, fighting the urge to smile as she hooks her pinky around his. He wants to scoop her up in a tight hug and spin her around because it’s over, it’s finally over, and they can go back to being a weird, happy little family, and he was right, Davis was involved, and it’s over. It’s over. 

Greybeard nearly jumps out of his skin, but Randall holds him back. Just a little longer. 

Hamish takes a deep breath, head tipping back like he’s soaking up the relief as he unwraps the chains tying Travenner to her chair. “Last question - who do you want to die first, you or Jenny?”

She breaks down, bawling and gasping out, “Please don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, I, I…”

“Fuck off, _Olivia_ ,” Jenny hisses, twisting as much as she can to look up at Hamish. “Do you think he screamed louder for me than he does for you?”

Hamish grabs her face, claws digging into her cheeks, and growls through his teeth.

“Could you hear him? Could you hear him screaming and crying? Did you-”

He rips his hand back, breaking her jaw with a loud pop and a mess of jagged, torn skin in his wake. 

Damn. Even Greybeard is swooning.

He snaps the chains - Is it getting warm in the Pit of Despair or do Randall and Hamish have matching competency kinks? - and shoves her out of her chair. 

She barely hits the floor before wolfing out, but Tundra is faster and she’s only halfway shifted when he grabs her by the back of her neck and throws her across the room. 

  
Alpha shakes it off and charges. He reeks of fear so strongly Greybeard hacks, lip curling at the stench as he slips over Randall’s skin and tackles him before he makes it even halfway to Tundra. He slams him into the wall so hard the stone at his back crumbles, fragments and dust flying in Greybeard’s face as Alpha scrambles to free himself. 

A low, guttural bark from Midnight, a clear demand to let someone else in on the fun, gives Greybeard pause.

He drops Alpha like the sack of shit that he is and barely get half a step away before Midnight lunges between them. He drags Alpha to the middle of the room, where Silverback looms over him and Timber prowls in a tight circle around him. 

They all lunge at the same time, and Greybeard leaves them to their fun in favor of taking his place at Hamish’s side as he stands over a sobbing, blubbering Travenner. If she was capable of words, Randall is sure she’d still be pleading for her own life instead of her daughter’s. 

“Hey,” Hamish greets softly, brushing dust off of his brow. “Thanks for taking such good care of my guy.”

Greybeard chirps and snuffles his hair. 

“This one’s all yours.” He pulls Greybeard’s face down and leans his forehead against his. “I promised Lilith she could eat her heart, but other than that… have fun with it.”

Travenner wails and, man, her voice is _really_ annoying when you have super sensitive werewolf hearing.

He swipes at her throat. It’s not deep enough to kill her immediately, but it stuns her into silence, punctuated only by gurgling noises. Her hands fly to her neck, struggling to get any meaningful pressure on the wound. Dumb move on her part, it just leaves her midsection wide open for an attack, and Greybeard takes it, lunging forward until teeth meet flesh and muscle and an explosion of hot, metallic blood fills his mouth as he clamps down. 

Travenner shudders, body instinctively curling in on itself. 

Greybeard drops her and she hits the ground with a soft thud. Blood pools in the gaping hole he left in her stomach and saturates the fabric of her shirt a dark, muted red, but it’s not enough. After everything she did, everything she tried to do and put into motion, a hole in her stomach just isn’t good enough for Randall. And it’s never enough for Greybeard.

He tears into her again, this time slicing through her face till she’s an unrecognizable mess of blood and skin torn down to the muscle. 

  
And again, across her chest with enough force that he scrapes against his ribs, so he pushes deeper and rips hard to snap her open again. He’s about to yank her heart out with his teeth when Timber shoulders him out of the way and takes it for himself with a low, rumbling snarl. Greybeard waits for him to keep going, but he stands, licking over his muzzle and turns back to the group. 

So Greybeard strikes again, biting into her throat until he crushes her windpipe. 

And again, and again until all that’s left is a pile of bloody, mangled flesh, bones cracked and littered with teeth and claw marks and there’s no more damage he can do short of stripping away every last piece of flesh from her bones. It’s a tempting thought but it would require more attention than she’s worth, so Randall calls Greybeard back. 

_She will never come for what belongs to us again._

No. No one else will, either. Not if he has anything to say or do about it.

Arms wrap around him, one across his shoulders and the other winding around his stomach. He sags back against Hamish, turning his head to nuzzle over his bonding bite, and under the smell of blood, of sweat and despair and relief, of books and coffee and ink. Sun-warmed leather from his armchair, his bag, his shoes, that jacket Randall will never, ever give back. Crisp, cool sheets and the air just before a snowstorm. The light floral edge of Gabrielle’s lotion. The lavender Lilith sprays on her pillow to help her sleep. Jack’s denim jacket that wears everywhere. And somewhere deep beneath that, or maybe it’s just so familiar to him that it doesn’t register, is damp moss. Soft, rich dirt. Fresh, vaguely astringent pine and heavy, earthy cedar. The barest trace of fire, of smoke curling into the breeze. Soft cotton sweatshirts. 

He turns and crosses his arms behind Hamish’s neck, leaning in till his lips brush over Hamish’s. He feels him smile when he does it again, and he’s about to kiss him harder when a flash of light explodes in the pit, closely followed by a deafening crack as the ground splinters beneath their feet. 

Randall tightens his hold on Hamish and Hamish grips him harder, and they both look over to see Jenny’s body smoking on the floor, a web of angry welts snaking up her back and fanning across it like branches on a tree. 

Gabrielle blinks back at them, so stunned that she hasn’t noticed her hair is standing on end. Jack points at Lilith, who just shrugs and picks up her clothes off the floor. 

“Damnit,” Randall murmurs to Hamish. “I missed it again.”

* * *

You’d think someone in the Knights would have known how to make a bonfire. Randall’s money was on Jack, but apparently Jack only pretends to look rugged and outdoorsy and Randall has to, once again, re-evaluate what he saw in Jack Morton besides sad eyes, good hair, a strong dislike for the Order, and a thing for blondes. Luckily said blonde knows how to make a bonfire, so maybe future Randall knew Jack would get Alyssa and that’s why past Randall recruited him… wow, that’s trippy, no thanks.

“What if they get their memories back?” Lilith asks, inspecting the marshmallow she’s been carefully rotating over the flames. “Can we kill them then?”

“Or if Praxis recruits them?” Jack points out. “We shouldn’t have let them go.”

“Vera was adamant.” Alyssa shrugs. “Angus and Selena will have no memory of us or the Order, and unless they come after us, they're off limits. Nothing we can do about it now.”

Randall rolls his eyes and pulls Hamish tighter against him where they’re sprawled out on a blanket. “If they come anywhere near the house again, Greybeard’s going to eat them.”

“We know,” Hamish soothes, kissing his forehead. “And I’m sure Vera does, too.”

“Did she tell them to avoid the woods?”

“Oh, we kept it pretty basic,” Nicole says with a smirk. “We told them they’d never heard of the Order or werewolves, but there might be a safe full of cash in an abandoned house in the woods.”

Nicole is Randall's new favorite person. 

Hamish laughs, shaking his head, and raises his soda. “Nicely done.”

Everyone shuffles around to clink their glasses of ridiculously expensive scotch - it _is_ smooth and sweet and rich, sorry, Hamish - and the crackling fire fills the silence as they drink.

Once they’d cleaned up after themselves in the Pit of Despair, the Knights wandered upstairs and Hamish grabbed one of the ceremonial robes to wear out, but none of them cleaned the blood off their hands and faces. They swung by Vera’s office to give her the name and tell her where to find the information. Alyssa called her mysterious friends and informed her that Gregory Bashmet’s fiancée accepted a job six hours north of Belgrave the day after negotiations with the Order went cold. They left yesterday morning according to the selfie of the dweebiest looking white guy Randall has ever seen taken with a grinning, sunglasses clad brunette driving in the background captioned, “Can’t wait to start our new chapter together, babe!!!!” heart emoji, mountains emoji, sunglasses emoji, kissy face emoji… seriously how many emojis does this guy need?

PS, her friends were so, so sorry and they would have given her the ingredients if they had access to them, blah, blah, whatever. As much as Randall tries to focus on the fact that not everyone in Praxis wants them dead, he really, really wanted to talk to that guy. Plus, you know, the whole HE ALMOST DIED AND THEY DIDN’T HELP HIM thing. He’s going to be salty about that one for a while. 

But, Vera gave them all a great big, shining beacon of a silver lining when she reminded them, “A new Temple Magus will mean new contracts and allegiances. Praxis must not have read the fine print when they signed last year.”

So they walked out of the Temple covered in blood with what felt like a million eyes on them, Randall tucked under Hamish’s arm and trying not to grin because it would ruin their dramatic exit. They went home, he and Hamish hit the shower - which was a moot point because as soon as they closed the door, they basically just licked the blood off of each other -, Randall demonstrated proper shower sex technique - his throat is still kind of sore, but has he mentioned he sucks dick like a champ? - , they grabbed their drinks, built their fire, and watched Alpha’s hide burn. 

Randall watches Lilith stuff her golden brown marshmallow into her mouth and grimaces in disgust. “Dude, that’s got dead werewolf dust on it.”

She shrugs and passes the slightly burnt one to Nicole, and she pops it whole into her mouth without even blinking. 

“So cannibalism is where you draw the line, huh?” Alyssa asks as she checks her own mallow, grinning at his discomfort in the situation. 

“Uh, cannibalism should be a line for everyone,” he points out, shuddering. 

“We’re mostly human,” Jack reminds him, “and we eat people.”

“That’s not…” Holy shit, they _are_ cannibals. “Fuck it, throw me that bag of mallows.”

Gabrielle drops it on his face and sips her whiskey thoughtfully. “Did any of you guys want to have families?”

Shit…

“I mean,” she sighs, pulling her blanket up around her shoulders, “I would be a horrible mother, but I could see myself getting married to the right person. You know, someone who respects me and sees there’s more to me than beauty, brains, impeccable taste, and money.”

“Any guy would be lucky to have you,” Lilith insists, squeezing her knee through the blanket. “And you’d be a scary mom but a good mom, if that’s what you want.”

She grabs Lilith’s hand and smiles. “So would you."

Hamish sits up, too, and slips his hand under the back of Randall's shirt, fingers warm and comforting against his spine. “I understand this isn’t what some of you would have chosen for yourselves, so…”

Don’t say it, don’t say it…

“... if anyone wants out, this would be the time to say it.”

  
Randall’s never appreciated how squishy marshmallows are until now. They’re like little memory foam pillows for his fingers, what are in these things anyway? Probably something way more fascinating and way less scary than whatever-

“Excuse you?” Gabrielle snaps. “You losers would be lost without me.”

Randall’s head snaps up.

“Look, make fun of me all you want, but,” Jack gestures around at the group with his glass, “you guys are the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. I love you guys. I’m not going anywhere.”

He glances at Lilith, who gives him a gasp so full of outrage that it borders on a squawk.

They don’t… they really want to stay? They haven’t changed their minds? Not even after dying and being turned into a tree, and, and getting sucked into hell, and listening to him and Hamish having sex, and… should he bring up the Trauma Chart?

Lilith’s outrage softens into genuine surprise. “You really think we’d bail? After everything we’ve been through together?”

That… that is a more positive way of looking at all of this, yes...

“I just,” he begins, then sighs. “I love you guys, too. I’d do anything for you guys, even if it meant losing you as Knights, as long as you’d be safe and happy.”

Lilith scoffs. “What’s safer than a house with four werewolves, one demon werewolf, and two badass witches?”

Nowhere. Nowhere is safer. And, to Randall, nowhere is happier, either.


	16. In which some time has passed and our boys get closer to their happily ever after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, friends... some fluff to send you all on your way.
> 
> I want to thank everyone again for reading this story and your endless words of encouragement! 
> 
> I also wanted to let you know I have an idea for a sequel. It is... so, so ridiculous, but I think it's appropriate. The idea needs more time to come together, but I have been working on something completely different for Randall and Hamish as a separate story from this one. It would take place between seasons one and two. I hope to get that going and maybe start posting it this year :O
> 
> You can also expect a little surprise around the next big holiday about these two :)

The earliest years of Randall’s life were spent in a two-bedroom apartment upper floor unit of a duplex, but he only has vague memories of being carried up a narrow, steep, carpeted staircase and deposited on the couch with a carton of milk and a, “Be right back, buddy!” as his mom turned on cartoons for him and ran back out for the groceries, and his dad standing in the bathtub to supervise him brushing his teeth because the bathroom was too small for him to stand next to him. Right before he started kindergarten, they moved into the house where Randall would spend the rest of his living with his parents years, a three-bedroom, two bathroom, red brick covered house with a big yard and a magnolia tree. He left his bedroom windows open all the time and sometimes he’d leave for a while and return to find petals all over his room, and more than one person commented to him at school, “Randall… you smell so good.” And he just shrugged and said, “Thanks, it’s my natural essence.”

He’ll have to bring Hamish back when the tree is in bloom, but for now it’s covered in a dusting of light, powdery snow. It’s still coming down when Randall pulls into the driveway, big, fluffy flakes landing in clumps on his windshield that melt within seconds. Between the snow and the soft white lights twinkling against the garland wreath on the front door, the red bows and poinsettias dotting the bushes, it looks like something straight out of a holiday movie. The situation in general would be a pretty good set up - a guy brings his boyfriend home to meet his parents for the first time, but, gasp! They’re werewolves and members of a secret society that practices magic… OK, maybe it’s not cheesy holiday romcom material, but it has potential. It could get a small but dedicated fanbase on Netflix. 

He turns to Hamish, who is so fixated on the house that he doesn’t seem to have noticed the car is off. He could be noting security hazards - big windows and no screens, easy access to the second floor from tree, Randall does the same thing since they got involved with the Order -, or psyching himself up for meeting Randall’s parents - he swore up and down he wasn’t nervous but he packed and re-packed four times and hasn’t slept through the night in two days -, or just soaking up the scene as much as Randall is. 

They left the Den around four. As soon as they hit the highway, he looked over to ask Hamish to change the playlist and he was fast asleep, which is completely understandable since he’s been nervous about meeting Randall’s parents (despite his insistence to the contrary) and busy as fuck after officially becoming Temple Magus. Lately the Knights have all been slammed since the holidays mean people are using magic for everything - getting presents, perfecting their dinners, squeezing a few more hours into the day, even setting up their freaking Christmas lights - and the amount of ringing that’s been going off is enough to make Randall want to rip his own ears off. 

Some of it wasn’t so bad, though. He had a few people who were really just… like the woman who was trying to heal her daughter’s dog so he’d live long enough for one more Christmas. So he healed the dog for her (he’s a really good boy with a big blocky head and bat ears and Randall took eleven selfies with him). But mostly it’s people trying to set up playsets and lights and make their trees live longer, which only results in possessed dollhouses, turning your house into a giant light bulb, and a tree exploding in your living room. 

And, keep in mind, this was all starting at the same time as finals. Randall would finally get all of his stuff spread out exactly how he needed it - flashcards in hand, notes to his right, book to his left, water bottle within easy reach, laptop at the ready to double check lecture slides - and the goddamn ringing would go off. Then he’d come home and get back to studying only for it to happen again. And again. They had to take shifts just to get anything remotely meaningful accomplished. 

So, has it been busy? Yeah. And is it exhausting? So,  _ so  _ exhausting. But it feels like he and the Order are finally doing some good, and Praxis will eventually realize they’re not trying to squash them like little bugs, they just don’t want them to pull a Jack Skellington and ruin everyone’s Christmas, despite their good intentions. Or their lives in general. It’s like a giant  _ Nightmare Before Christmas _ metaphor. Praxis is… yeah, OK, you get it. Cool. But the Order is Santa and not Oogie Boogie, that’s the point. 

The negotiations with Praxis after Hamish got sworn in were… well, Randall had to excuse himself twice on the first day because Greybeard was about to lose his shit. Apparently Praxis’s response to the attacks on him and Hamish were, “Well, it was a few people and now they’re dead or gone, so why should we do anything different?” and “This is Elenore Taylor all over again, you think because a few of us are bad, all of us should be punished!” and “Wah, wah, we can’t control our members because we don’t even keep a list of who they are, we just have a big ole group chat, boo fucking hoo!” 

Hamish, though. Hamish handled that shit like a boss. 

“Look, I’m a busy guy,” he’d said, sliding his chair away from the table and getting to his feet, “so here’s the contract. The only things we’ve changed are that you have to properly vet your members, keep track of them, and we’re halving the amount of resources we send your way. If you decide not to sign it, The Knights and I will take back every single tool, herb, book, and candle that the Order gave you. Then I’m going to take down all the protection spells and sigils guarding your headquarters, and the next time you mess up a spell and hurt or kill someone… well, I’m busy, but Randall’s got some free time. Right, Randall?”

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t, but threatening people is Greybeard’s second favorite thing, right after Tundra and before extra meaty pizza/barbecue-bacon double cheeseburgers (those two are a tie). So he just shrugged, let his claws out a little where his hands were curled around Hamish’s shoulders, and said, “I’ll make time.”

Hamish had smiled up at him before schooling his expression back to nonchalance and saying to Praxis’s representatives of the month, “Your call.”

They returned the signed contract two hours later, including the provision that they were to notify the Order the  _ second _ Bashmet comes around without tipping him off first, and that is how Randall earned a reputation as the Harley Quinn to Hamish’s Joker. Wait… they broke up. Plus, they were bad guys. The Knights are good guys. He’s like… the Patroclus to Hamish’s Achilles… no, wait, too tragic. This one’s going to take some work.

Randall keeps an eye on Bashmet’s social media, and the fiancee’s. So far it’s just dumb seflies and photos of their food and their cats (they’re too cute to belong to such problematic people). She barely posts anything at all. He knows Hamish scours the internet for signs Bashmet is starting his own little Praxis chapter, evidence of Tartarus Eruptions, any sign that they’re up to something, but as far as he knows, Hamish hasn’t found anything.    
  


The Knights+2 burned the book illustrating the story of the first attempted severing a few nights after turning Alpha into ashes, and Lilith has the demon book tucked safely away somewhere. No one knows where. They decided that was for the best.

But, honestly? Not much has changed for the rest of them. 

Except that Lilith comes with him on raids and such now. Did you know a grown ass man will piss himself just as fast when lightning strikes right over his head as he will when the dude asking him about where he got the sickles turns into a werewolf? It’s pretty great. Plus, it’s too cold to be wandering around in just a bathrobe even for a werewolf, and now he doesn’t have to!

And, OK, things with Hamish are different since he’s sort of his boss now, and they have to be mostly professional when they’re at the Temple or doing Order Stuff(™). Well… it probably wasn’t professional when Hamish told everyone he and Randall had a meeting to go over the new contract for the Knights but really he just wanted to make out, and Randall wanted to give him a blowjob. The contract was on the desk, though. They did look at it. Randall even crossed out the part about the dress code - nice try, Vera, not happening - before dropping to his knees.

But everything is good-different. The best kind of different. They still - as previously noted - have a lot of sex because sex is awesome and Randall loves making Hamish feel good and Hamish loves driving Randall crazy, but there are also dates. Mini dates, lately, like lunch in Hamish’s office or movie nights when the others are all out doing whatever the hell they do when they’re not home - just kidding, if you think Randall doesn’t have at least a vague sense of where they are at any given time, you didn’t read the story -, but dates all the same. 

He got his fancy dinner, too. Really nice French-American bistro on the waterfront, small and intimate with the absolute best steak Randall has had in his entire life. Super exclusive, he still has no idea how Hamish got them a reservation. It was perfect. Absolutely, completely, one hundred percent perfect.

And he moved into Hamish’s room at the Den. They argued for two days about how much stuff he owns and what should stay in his old room and what should go to the apartment, since they’re planning on spending more time there, and why Hamish wasn’t taking any of  _ his _ stuff to the apartment because then there would be more room for Randall’s stuff, plus Hamish doesn’t keep anything at the apartment, it’ll be weird if it was just Randall’s clothes and odds and ends. And then they bickered about what clothes should be hung in the closet versus folded in drawers, which Randall doesn’t give a shit about but apparently Hamish does, and it’s so fun to wind him up sometimes. So that took longer than expected.

(It also took longer than expected because once they got all the boxes into the apartment, Hamish bent him over the kitchen island and … maybe rimmed Randall till he cried... and then fucked him… and Randall  _ has _ to be cuddled after sex or else he’ll probably wither up and die, but the kitchen floor is not great for snuggling and the couch was covered in boxes so they  _ had _ to go to bed, and then they fell asleep, and when they woke up they were hungry so they went and got dinner ... and then they got back to unpacking.) 

They wolf out more, mostly as a group but also just the two of them. Tearing through the woods, howling at the sky, tackling each other to the ground and nuzzling and everything Randall’s learned to expect from a werewolf love fest. One of them usually catches some kind of game and drops it at the other one’s feet, which is very sweet, but Randall hates killing rabbits - what? They’re adorable and it’s hard to get all that fluff out of his teeth - even if he’s technically not the one doing. But Greybeard’s more settled now that he gets to spend more time with Tundra. Randall isn’t, he’s just as energetic and restless as ever, but at least one of them is. 

Hamish finally notices Randall looking at him and takes a deep breath. “Anything I need to know before we go in?”

“Nope,” Randall replies, pushing some of Hamish’s hair back from his forehead. “Don’t be nervous. They’re going to love you.”

Hamish only looks slightly convinced but he nods. 

They get out of the car at the same time and pull their stuff out of the backseat. Randall loops his arm through Hamish’s and they walk like that till he has to extract his hand to unlock the front door. 

Immediately, he’s hit with the smell of beef and thyme and rosemary and potatoes and sugar and almond, the jasmine and rose from his mom’s favorite perfume, smoke from the fire crackling away in the living room, and he grins so hard his cheeks hurt as he pulls Hamish along towards the kitchen. 

His mom is covered in dried splats of icing and there’s flour all over her, even on her forehead, but the frazzled look on her face melts at the sight of him. 

“You’re here!” she yells, dusting her hands off on her jeans and running to tackle him with the kind of bone-crushing hug only moms can deliver. “Oh my god, honey, I missed you so much!”   
  


“I missed you, too, Mom.” He grins over her head at Hamish, who looks baffled and amused in equal measure.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, standing up straight and kneading at his shoulders. “Sweetie, you’re, like… super solid!”

“I work out,” he says with a shrug and turns her toward Hamish. “Mom, this is Hamish. Hamish, this is my mom.”

Hamish gives her a sideways grin. “It’s nice to meet -”

His mom grabs his biceps, too. “Holy shit, are all of your dates at the gym?”

“Mom!” Randall groans. “At least say hi before you start groping him!”

“Oh, crap, sorry!” She grabs Hamish’s hand in both of hers instead. “It is very nice to meet you, Hamish, I'm Maria. Welcome to our home, we're very happy you're here. I am so sorry for groping you, it's just that I’ve heard so much about you from Randall that I forgot we’ve never met. I promise I’m not one of those weird middle-aged ladies who hits on younger men while her husband is in the other room.”

“It’s fine,” Hamish replies, laughing. “And thanks for letting me tag along with Randall. Your house is lovely, and whatever you’re cooking smells fantastic.”

The basement door flies open to reveal Randall’s dad, looking much less frazzled than his mom but he also has a nearly empty beer in his hand while, upon a quick look around the kitchen, his mom has no wine, beer, or hard seltzer. He told them both that while Hamish doesn’t drink, he wouldn’t care if they do, but his mom being who she is probably decided to forgo the alcohol out of courtesy. His dad, in complete and total honesty, probably forgot this conversation ever happened. 

His dad stares at Hamish for a long moment, blinking in confusion. 

“Maria,” he says without taking his eyes off Hamish, “does our son look different to you?”

“Dad,” Randall says sharply. “Please don’t-”

“Oh, he  _ sounds _ the same,” he notes, squinting at Hamish and adding in a whisper, “I know it’s been a while, but has he always had such dreamy blue eyes?”

Randall punches his dad on the back of the shoulder. 

“What’s that, buddy, I - oh!” He does a double take and sighs with exaggerated relief. “What a relief, I thought your mom was about to spring a secret lovechild on me...”

Hamish is trying so, so hard not to laugh. And failing. 

His dad grins. “Hi, son.”

“Hi, Dad,” Randall sighs, rolling his eyes and giving him a hug. “Thanks for being cool in front of my boyfriend. I really appreciate you not being weird in the first five minutes.”

“Anything for you, kid!” He pats Randall’s back. “Oh, you got more muscley…”

“I did. By the way, ‘dreamy blue eyes’ answers to Hamish. Hamish, my dad answers to 'Joe.'"

His dad releases him and shakes Hamish’s hand. “Your eyes really are dreamy.”

“Thank you…?” 

“You’ve got a helluva grip,” he notes, pumping their hands up and down a few more times before clapping him on the shoulder. “You guys need help with your stuff?”

Randall waves him off. “Mom, you need any help with dinner?”

“Nope. You guys throw your stuff down, I was just about to take the roast out of the oven.”

“Did you make cookies?”

“I did, but,” she adds in a stern voice, “you can only eat the ones on the counter. The nice ones are coming to the salon with me tomorrow.”

Randall frowns and explains to a confused Hamish, “I only get the ugly reject cookies.”

“Hey,” his dad points at him and turns to Hamish, “last time Randall came home, he ate every single cookie in this house on the first night. The first night, Hamish! Every morning I came down to absolute carnage. First it was the cookies, then it was the chips, then the pretzels, all he left was a single bag of popcorn.”

This is an attack. 

(Also, it was unsalted, unbuttered popcorn. He might as well eat styrofoam.)

“As much as I love and miss you, sweet child of mine,” his mom calls from across the room, “I have to admit, you’re a pain in the ass to feed.”

Pssht. She should try feeding a house full of werewolves. Wait, she’d probably love that. Both of them would. She’d spend all night gossiping with the girls, his dad would challenge Jack, Hamish and him to a foosball tournament and scope out where in the yard they should put a grill. (Note to self: they need a grill.)

He jerks his head for Hamish to follow him down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he tosses his bag down in the corner and flops back onto his bed, folding his arms under his head as Hamish looks around. 

It’s pretty tame, all things considered. He’s got a few hockey sticks mounted on the wall, a desk covered in stacks of comic books, a couple of trophies, but nothing nearly as wild or embarrassing as Hamish probably expected. Maybe even hoped for.

Hamish sets his bag on the floor and inspects the trophies. “Why did you stop playing?”

“I wanted a break,” Randall says with a shrug. “No one from my class got into Belgrave and I thought I’d branch out a little. Try new things. Get lured into a creepy basement and turned into a werewolf by a hot guy. Fight bad magic. Learn magic. Fall in love with the hot guy who turned me into a werewolf. That kind of thing.”

“They should put that in the brochure,” Hamish says airily, moving on to the desk to check out Randall’s comics. 

He ends his loop around the room by stretching out along Randall’s side. This bed is considerably smaller than theirs - because they share Hamish’s bed now, Randall moved into his room, it’s  _ theirs _ now - so Randall scoots over to give him more space, throwing his leg over Hamish’s and sitting up a little so Hamish can slide his arm under him to wrap around his shoulders. It’s a little like laying in the hammock on their first and only fake date. 

(Hamish got him a hammock for Christmas. Randall has already set it up in the corner of the porch without windows. He got Hamish a new coffee machine for his office. It’s not nearly as nice as the one Travenner ruined, but it’s fancy and got over five thousand good reviews.)

Randall smiles up at Hamish. “I told you they’d like you.”

“It’s been five minutes, Randall, they have three more nights to-”

“Demand your phone number so they can send you dumb memes and call you on your birthday?” He tilts his chin up till their lips meet. “All they care about is that you make me happy, Hamish.”

"You make me happy, too," Hamish says, smiling, and brushes his knuckles over Randall’s jaw, but h e still looks tired, a little frayed at the edges, like if they lay here much longer he’ll fall back to sleep. 

He went back and forth about taking the Temple Magus role. The vote took hours, and Hamish spent the entire time they waited staring at the little orb and detailing every possible outcome if he accepted or declined. Randall spent the entire time rubbing his shoulders, petting his hair, forcing him to drink water, and alternating between supplying supporting arguments and playing devil’s advocate. Randall’s biggest concern was this, that Hamish would be spread too thin and exhausted and miserable, but when Vera gave him the news and Randall saw the excited, determined look on Hamish’s face… well, i t’ll get easier now that they’ve got the new contracts done. From here on, Hamish will mostly be responsible for monitoring everyone’s progress, overseeing rituals, selecting new members, that sort of thing. He has to answer to the Council, which sucks, but Hamish is good at diplomacy laced with thinly veiled disdain and backhanded compliments. He comes from a long line of rich, high society assholes - his words, not Randall’s - so he can handle those elitist jerks all day long without breaking a sweat. 

This weekend will be good for him. He’ll relax, and Randall’s mom will smother him with affection and home cooked meals, and his dad will make a million more dumb but excellent jokes, and Randall set his alarm for an hour earlier than Hamish usually wakes up so he can make him breakfast in bed in the morning. He just has to wriggle out of Hamish’s grabby hands without waking him up, but hopefully he’ll be so dead to the world that he won’t wake up until he smells coffee and bacon. And stay in bed anyway. 

He sits up, pulling Hamish up with him. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

“I’m telling you, Greybeard has a tapeworm,” Hamish comments. 

Randall sighs. “That thing my dad told you was before Greybeard.”

“Huh. Maybe _you_ have a tapeworm.”

“Maybe you’re a tapeworm,” he retorts.

Hamish rolls his eyes and shoves him the rest of the way into the kitchen, pausing to glance over the photos on the refrigerator.

“So, Hamish,” Randall’s dad begins, “you’re a philosophy professor?”

“Teaching assistant,” he corrects mildly as he sits down at the table, “but I’ll be finishing up this year so with any luck, I’ll get an adjunct teaching job at Belgrave.”

His mom drops a basket of bread onto the table. “What drew you to philosophy?”

“He loves thinking and arguing,” Randall cuts in and trails after her to help get the food.

“Actually, I was going to pursue law,” Hamish says without missing a beat, “but it was… unfulfilling.”

Randall’s dad nods understandingly. “Lawyers are creeps.”

“That, too,” he agrees, smiling at Randall as he sets a glass of water in front of him. “I can-”

“I’ve got this,” Randall breaks in, dragging his fingers along his back as he walks by. “Hey, Dad, Hamish reads all the ‘Terms and Conditions’ for  _ everything _ .” 

His dad leans forward eagerly. “Do I sell another piece of my soul to Apple every time I download a new song?”

“No, but there is a clause about not using anything you buy from the iTunes store to make a nuclear, chemical, or biological weapon.”

“What the hell do they sell that could make a biological weapon?” his mom demands. “Is that what it’s called if I throw my phone at someone?”

“No, that’s just assault. Also, iPhones still referenced GoogleMaps through 2014 even though they dropped the service in 2012. Then there’s the fact that Spotify can basically see any and everything on your phone all the time.” 

Why does Hamish have Spotify  _ and _ Apple Music…?

While they try to figure out what someone could possibly do besides maybe contaminating a water supply with battery acid that constitutes a biological attack, Randall gets his mom a glass of wine, another beer for his dad, and a lemon wedge for Hamish’s water. Then he plates up pot roast - and eats a few pieces of meat directly from the pan, burnt fingers be damned - and mashed potatoes and sets them in front of his parents and boyfriend before sitting down and digging in himself. 

Hamish bumps his knee against Randall’s under the table and laughs when Randall’s dad slams his hand on the table and announces, “They’re brainwashing us!”

“Joe, please,” Randall’s mom covers his hand with her own, “you have to have a brain to get brainwashed.”

His dad lets out a long sigh of relief. “Good thing you fried all your brain cells breathing in those chemicals at the salon, honey.”

“And that you turned yours into mush staring at computer screens all day,” she agrees, smiling fondly at him. “They’ll never take us alive.”

Hamish leans over and whispers to Randall, “This explains so much about you.”

Randall elbows him. 

“You play sports, Hamish?” his dad asks.

“Just water polo in high school.”

“Yeesh,” his mom hisses. “I heard you guys are basically just kicking the crap out of each other under the water the whole time.”

“Basically,” he confirms, shrugging. “Hockey still seems more violent.”

His dad snaps and points at Randall. “I ran into Nate Gilligan at the gas station yesterday!”   
  


“Oh, yeah?” He adds to Hamish, “We played on varsity together.”

“Yeah, he said a bunch of the guys booked the outdoor rink at the park this Saturday afternoon. You should go. Skate circles around them. Show off those muscles. Make them eat your ice dust. That sort of thing.”

“Is Andy Mendoza going to be there?” Hamish asks suddenly.

Randall groans. “You can’t kill him.”

“Oh he should kill him,” his mom argues. “Definitely kill him.”

His dad tips his beer in agreement.

“I could slash his tires,” Hamish offers instead.

  
“It’s probably his mom’s car and she’s nice. Besides,” he steals a piece of a carrot off Hamish's plate, “it would be no contest because of-”

“- how much you’ve been skating lately,” Hamish breaks in, smiling at Randall’s parents but it’s a bit strained. “He picked it back up. Just for fun.”

“I haven’t…” 

Hamish kicks his shin under the table.

Oh… oh shit...

Randall laughs, shaking his head at how silly he is for almost outing himself as a wer- for forgetting all the skating he's been doing lately. “Exactly!”

“That’s great, honey,” his mom says warmly. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask but I figured I’d wait till you were both here, what made you guys finally decide to get together?”

Oh… 

See, Randall’s parents know he met Hamish early on in the beginning of his freshman year, but he told them - and he caught Hamish up on all of this last week - that they met through an obscure, little known fraternity that ultimately got disbanded by the end of the year because they ran out of money (thank god that really did happen his freshman year, except… he’s still in the fraternity and it’s not a fraternity). Then the next year he moved into the house since it was cheaper than any shoebox he could live in on campus, and that’s about all they needed to know. 

They also knew he had a huge crush on Hamish - they’re his parents, they can read him like a book - , so he figured it would be assumed that they went from friends to roommates to dating as a natural progression. It makes sense to him. Clearly it makes sense to Hamish because he didn’t bring this up when they had all of their, “What if they ask about…” talks every night for the past week. 

Double shit… 

“Well,” Randall begins, setting his fork down and sitting back in his chair, “it’s, uh… “

Hamish takes a quick drink. “It’s sort of complicated.”

“Right.”

His parents blink and smile expectantly. 

He hates lying to his parents. Obviously he can’t tell them he’s a werewolf or about the Order. He can’t tell them about rescuing Lilith from hell. He can’t tell them he’s been kidnapped twice now, experimented on, tortured, and almost died the second time. He can’t tell them about Cassie, about Hamish almost getting severed, about Gabrielle and Jack joining the ‘fraternity,’ about Praxis. 

OK, so how… how does he do this without… “It was a really rough year. Two really rough years. We went through a lot of sh-stuff, me and Hamish and our friends.” 

They’re not smiling anymore. His mom starts to ask but he cuts her off, “I can’t really talk about it, and I know that’s not fair because you guys want to help and you want to fix it, but I promise I’m OK. It was just… hard. So Hamish and I, we sort of… leaned a little harder on each other, I guess, until we couldn’t ignore our feelings anymore.”

“I ignored it for a long time,” Hamish adds quietly, hooking his foot around Randall’s ankle. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate, and every time I thought my feelings were reciprocated, I talked myself out of it.”

Randall smiles at him. “We’re dumb.”

“So dumb,” Hamish agrees with a chuckle. “And he’s right. The past few years have been, excuse my language, a fucking shitstorm, but… I hit a point where I was more afraid of what would happen if I didn’t tell him than what would happen if I did. So, here we are.”

None of it’s a lie. Incredible sparse on details, sure. But it’s not a lie. 

He pulls Hamish into a one-armed hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmurs and kisses Randall’s forehead. 

His dad clears his throat softly, more of a ‘Hey, I have concerns about what you just told me,’ than a ‘Stop being gross and sappy at the table.’ “Is everything… OK now?”

“Yeah,” Randall says quickly, sliding his chair closer to Hamish’s so he can keep his arm around him. “Sorry to spring all of that on you guys.”

“No, don’t ever apologize for something like that.” He shakes his head. “We knew something was going on. You just didn’t sound like yourself for a while there, pal.”

See? Parents know everything. 

His mom reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “We love you, and we understand there are things you don’t want to talk about with us, but we are  _ always  _ here for you, Randall. Anything you need, no matter how bad you think it is.”

“Including and up to murder,” his dad adds. 

Welp, that ship has sailed, but it’s a nice sentiment all the same.

His mom pats Hamish’s hand. “You, too, Hamish. You’re here for pot roast night, you’re here forever!”

Randall rests his head on Hamish’s shoulder. “And you were worried they wouldn’t like you…”

Hamish sighs in a way he probably thinks sounds like he’s annoyed that Randall is right, but his smile gives him away completely.

* * *

Randall’s alarm goes off bright and early.

He scrambles to shut it off before it wakes up Hamish but he can’t...quite...reach it because at some point last night, he wound up on the side of his bed closest to the wall instead of his bedside table, so now his only option is to either shimmy down to the foot of the bed and extract himself that way, or to crawl over Hamish to get to the phone. 

He goes with option two simply because it sounds easier and gets one leg over Hamish when he beats him to it and smacks his phone, knocking it to the floor where it goes silent. Randall really needs to talk to him about manhandling his phone…

Hamish rolls onto his back, grabbing Randall’s hips and stills him where he’s straddling his lap. “What’re you doing, baby?”

“It’s a surprise,” he whispers, unpeeling Hamish’s fingers as he bends to drop a kiss to the scar from Hamish’s bond bite. “Go back to sleep, Hamaroni.”

“You don’t-”

“Shhh,” he presses his lips to Hamish’s and slips out of bed. “I’ll be back. Just relax.”

Hamish yawns out an “OK,” and settles back into bed.

In a move Randall has been practicing for weeks - Alyssa and Nicole were his ceaselessly encouraging, endlessly patient tutors and Jack was his reluctant but ultimately cooperative guinea pig, so Randall bought them coffee every day for a week and took back half of the mean things he’s said about Jack -, he waves his hand and the blankets pull themselves up to Hamish’s chest.

Hamish’s quiet laughter follows him down the stairs, and if there is a more beautiful sound in the world, Randall doesn’t want to hear it.

He gets the coffee going first, then he digs out the waffle maker, plugs it in, and lets it heat up while he snags waffle mix and a mixing bowl. That’s just a quick measure of this, a splash of that, a handful of blueberries, stir, stir, stir, and into the waffle maker it goes. Now it’s bacon, which is possibly the easiest food in the world - the messiest, too, but that’s future Randall’s problem - and from here on, it’s just flip the waffle iron, flip the bacon, pour the coffee, grab the maple syrup and butter, extract the waffle and pour more batter, extract the bacon, cut up a strawberry to look like… eat the strawberry because it doesn’t look like anything and leave the rest of them whole on the plate, and in no time at all, he has a decent enough spread. 

After he gives the tray a thorough rinse and dry - he thinks this might only see the light of day on his mom’s birthday -, everything gets loaded up and carefully, very carefully carried upstairs and into his room. 

Hamish sits up and grins. “And I thought the blanket move was impressive…”

“It was,” Randall says simply, setting the tray down on the bed. “Hi.”

“Hi, beautiful,” he leans over and gives Randall a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

He shrugs and passes Hamish a fork. “You never got a break between running the Order and taking care of me and running the Order again, so think of this weekend as a mini-vacation.”

Hamish’s amusement softens at that, the gleam in his eyes shifting to a glow. “It wasn't so bad. That first night with you might have been the best night of my life so far.”

“Mine, too,” Randall says, ducking his head when his cheeks heat up. “But the rest of it was still hard, so let me take care of you.”

“You’re always taking care of me.”

“What kind of werewolf-husband would I be if I didn’t? Also, you’ve been a walking disaster since the first day I met you, so I have no choice.”

Hamish rolls his eyes and cuts into his waffle. “I was not.”

“I thought you were going to pass out twice on our way back to the Den,” Randall recounts. 

“I was nursing a mild hangover,” Hamish admits. “And recovering from getting stabbed multiple times in the gut. And thigh. They must have been going for an artery but-“”

“Hamish! You told me the jeans were ‘stylistically distressed!’”

“I also quoted  _ Spider-Man  _ at you when this was really more of a  _ Deadpool _ situation, and yet, you followed me.” He takes a quick sip of coffee. “How did you get these waffles so fluffy?”

“You’ve gotta flip ‘em, but I’d like to go back to the ‘I was recovering from almost dying when I met you,’ part of this discussion, please.”

Hamish stuffs another bite into his mouth and shrugs, like the fact that he’s eating excuses him from having to participate any further in this conversation.

Randall shakes his head, stealing a piece of bacon off Hamish’s plate, and scowls at him. “To think we consider you the responsible one…”

“That is,” Hamish swallows, “still true, we just happen to live dangerous lives.”

“Mhmm.”

“We ‘can’t protect each other from everything,’ right, Randall? Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“No,” he scoffs. “And even if it did, stop using my words against me.”

“But I like your words,” Hamish insists. “Particularly when they prove my point so nicely.”

Well, it’s too bad Randall wasted all that effort making Hamish breakfast because he doesn’t feel sorry for him anymore or think Hamish deserves blueberry waffles. Or bacon. Or coffee, even though it’s black and bitter and tastes like shame and sadness. 

He takes the tray and sets it on the bedside table, climbs into Hamish’s lap and grabs his face. “Give me three good reasons why I don’t conjure up a bubble for you to live in for the rest of our lives.”

“One, you love me, two, it would be very difficult to pull off, and, three, how would I go to the bathroom or shower?”

Hmm. That was too easy. He should ask for two more reasons, but then there are lips on his, and it’s the kind of kiss Hamish always gives him when he comes back from a raid, or when they turn back after wolfing out, a sort of, “I’m so happy you exist and you’re mine and thank you for coming back to me,” kiss. It’s deep and hard and slow, a promise of more to come if he just stays, if he keeps coming home to him. Like Randall could ever leave him, like he ever would as long as it’s within his power, which means it’s the kind of kiss that Randall has to,  _ has _ to return tenfold because he can’t let Hamish think even for an instant that this will ever be something he doesn’t want. Because Greybeard may have chosen Randall for his champion, but deep down, Randall is pretty sure he chose him to be Hamish’s, too. 

“I’ll always keep you safe,” Randall murmurs between the parting of their lips. “I’ll set the world on fire if I have to.”

Hamish pulls back to stare at him. “Greybeard said something like that when we bonded.”

“Really?

“He said, ‘I will burn this world from the inside out. Rest your bones at its edge, warm your hands in its glow. Let it chase away your shadows and feed your soul. When the smoke clears, I will always return to you, my home.”

Randall smiles. “You remember all of it?”

“Tundra does.” Hamish brushes his thumb over his cheek. “What did he say?”

He thinks for a moment because he wants to get this right. “I was thinking about walking on thin ice and then Tundra said, ‘Keep going. Let the ice break, let the world swallow you whole. I will always call you home.’”

A strong, sudden surge of emotion hits Randall deep in his chest. Warm and calm and safe and so, so happy, and it takes him a few seconds to realize it’s not completely his. It’s not even completely Greybeard’s, he doesn’t think, even though he’s roaring from whatever corner of Randall’s consciousness he’s occupying at the moment. 

He starts to ask Hamish if he feels it, if Tundra reacted at all, but he’s being kissed again, slow and soft with hands cupping his face. And he smiles against Hamish's lips because he doesn't need to ask anymore - he's pretty sure they feel it, too. 

  
  



End file.
